


The Clock on the Wall

by Coffee_Flavored_Kisses



Series: Scarlett and Sweaters [2]
Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom, Scarlett Johansson - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangle, Multi, POV First Person, Polyamory, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 86,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses/pseuds/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their breakup, Lana Fillmore and Jeremy Renner have gotten on with their lives separately and thousands of miles apart. When Scarlett Johansson calls Lana for a job opportunity, however, Lana finds herself yet again working alongside her ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A man I met in rehab once told me something after he came back for the third time for his alcohol addiction. He said, “Lana, I know you all work your asses of here to save us from this type of things happening, and I have no excuse. _Caca pasa_ , you know?”  
Caca Pasa. Shit happens.  
Truer words were never spoken.  
When I gave Jeremy a chance, I had every intention of making it work with him, and I know his intentions were the same. But when we were finally together, things got… complicated. Things had always been complicated with us anyway, but this was on a whole other level. We were scheduling ourselves so that we were more or less together, but there were inevitabilities. He would go to Europe or whatever and I was stuck between LA and home. Home was still my crappy little apartment thirty minutes outside Chicago because I hadn’t been offered the chance to share a home with Jeremy.  
Gramma had been battling breast cancer on and off since I was in college. She would find a lump, get her treatment, go into remission for a while, find something else, go clean for a while, be declared an official survivor, then suddenly discover something worrisome again, and this had gone on for more than ten years now. But this time, things were bad. Gramma was too tired to put herself through chemo again, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I wanted her around forever, but she was fighting a losing battle, and as she said to me, she wanted to die with her real hair on.  
When Gramma died, that’s when things got really difficult.  
I know Jeremy tried. He wanted to make it work, and so did I. But while I was making funeral arrangements alone, trying to contact my mother (unsuccessfully), and crying my eyes out each night, Jeremy was three thousand miles away kissing another woman in the name of art.  
I know. It’s part of the job. But he should have been kissing me in the name of love.  
He called on Wednesday morning to tell me that he was on his way for the funeral, and I had to remind him the funeral had been on Tuesday. I think that’s when he knew it was over.  
Look, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy, because he’s not. But he had told me when we got together that he had avoided relationships because he never thought he could be a successful actor and a successful lover at the same time. He said he thought maybe he could make it work with me because I was the first girl to make him try. And he did try. He tried so hard. But he was right. He was a terrible boyfriend.  
As far as Scarlett was concerned, I was in a state of complete envy when it came to her. We didn’t speak as often as we had when we worked together, but that’s understandable. We still spoke every other week or so, I guess. She’d call Jeremy and I would end up talking to her. When Jeremy and I broke up, she still called me, but maybe once a month or so, and usually for fashion advice.  
After all, she was his friend first.  
We only dated for a year. And of that year, I would say we spent about three months’ time together. But when it was over, it felt like a divorce. I don’t know. Things were so different. I probably gained ten pounds of pure Gyro and fried mushrooms. I guess my point is that it was basically the worst period in my life.  
I was working for the local CBS news station, not making much at all, though it paid the rent. I still did some costuming for plays and such on the side, but once Jeremy and I were over, I avoided Hollywoodland as much as possible. Only once in the few months since we’d broken up had I been out there, and that was for a red carpet event I’d been committed to since before I’d even gone on that stupid press tour.  
But when Scarlett called me in the middle of the night in July, things started to look up.  
“Hey, kiddo!” She said in a cheerful tone that frankly pissed me off immediately.  
“Why?”  
“What do you mean, why?” she laughed. “I have a question for you.”  
“Just… trust your own fashion sense, will you? It’s…” I looked over at the clock. “Almost three in the morning!”  
“Oh, sorry, hun,” she said. “It’s not quite one here. Time difference.”  
“Yeah, no shit,” I told her, though I was smiling now. “And since when is one in the morning an acceptable time to call someone?”  
“Since I decided to do you a solid,” she answered. “I’ve got some good news.”  
“Okay.”  
“Okay? That’s it? You’re not eager to know what it is?”  
“It’s the middle of the goddamn night, Johansson. I’m not eager about anything.”  
“Okay, well… I guess you won’t be interested in the little movie I’m filming next week…”  
“Wait,” I sat up in bed. “Eager now. Eager.”  
She giggled in her raspy way. “There she is; that’s the Lana Fillmore I know! It’s all set, but the head of costume design got into some sort of fight with one of the producers, and it was a whole thing, and anyway, I told them I knew someone, and they asked to interview you.”  
“But the only stuff I’ve designed is for the stage! What kind of movie is it?”  
“1940s Chicago.”  
I was having another one of my dreams. I knew I was. “Scarlett, I swear to the gods, if you are lying to me right now…”  
“Swear to god!” she laughed. “I had a feeling you might want to give it a go. Anyway, I think they want to see you on Friday. That gives you three days to come up with some designs and make a presentation.”  
“Three days? That’s it?” I was panicking, sweating, and kind of maybe dying.  
“You’ve got this, babe,” she assured me. “And hey, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”  
“You’re not handy with a sewing machine are you?”  
She laughed. “I was thinking maybe more along the lines of arranging your ticket out here or something like that.”  
I informed her that yeah, a ticket out there would be a huge help since I was basically broke, and she let me go after she told me she would email me details.  
I didn’t go back to sleep. Too much to do.  
…  
“Why do I need an agent?”  
“Because you’re working in Hollywood,” my coworker, Amanda, explained. “Because you have a talent, and that talent is being explored by the producers of a film. It’s no different from being an actor, only instead of seeing your face, everyone sees your creations. It’s intimate and personal putting your designs out there like that. It’s like having a sex scene in every scene of every movie you do. So yeah, you need an agent.”  
“How do I even do something like that?” I asked her. “Get an agent, I mean.”  
She told me to ask Scarlett, and I guess she was right.  
Scarlett informed me that I would be meeting with a friend of hers, a guy named Jamison Rhodes, who was an agent fairly new to the area and looking for clients. I’d meet with him the day I arrived, and in fact his car would come get me from the airport.  
I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I came up with a portfolio of rough sketches, twenty different designs for women, ten for men, and a couple for children, just in case there would be any in the film. Given how little I knew about the film, I was covering my tracks well, I felt. I had even designed one dress with Scarlett specifically in mind, and having still memorized her measurements (strictly for business, and not at all out of any body envy, of course), I constructed the dress with only minutes to spare before I had to leave for O’Hare and catch my flight.  
LAX seemed completely dead for a Friday afternoon strangely, but I had no complaints. I searched for the car that was waiting for me, but of all the men and women in black suits holding up signs with names, there were none for me. Maybe I was late? Or early? Or… in some other way I must have fucked it up.  
“Lana Fillmore?”  
I turned to face a man that I hadn’t been looking for specifically, but who I was glad had found me.  
“Yes,” I said, smiling like an idiot as this ridiculously attractive man approached me further.  
“Car’s waiting,” he said.  
I started following him, admiring from behind how he looked a little like a younger American version of Idris Elba, and how he walked with such confidence and purpose. “Wait,” I paused, realizing that, you know, he didn’t look like a professional driver and after all, didn’t have one of those fancy signs like the line of chauffeurs had. “How do I know you’re my driver?”  
“I’m not your driver,” he told me. “I’m your agent.”  
“Oh!” I smiled. “I’m sorry, I just thought…. Well, I was expecting a driver.”  
“Well we’re not walking,” he said. “Got a car parked a little bit away. Hope that’s okay with you.”  
I nodded and said that yeah, I supposed it was okay. But when he said we weren’t walking, he was wrong. It was easily a two-mile hike to his car, and when we got there, I was, to put it mildly, unimpressed.  
I mean, my car is a piece of shit, and I wanted my car right about now.  
I dragged my luggage behind me with no help from Mister Rhodes, and placed – no, stuffed – them in the trunk of the car. I stepped inside, kicking away the old pop can and bag from Taco Bell as I sat, and he was already at that point where he had the car started and was looking at me impatiently waiting for me to buckle in so we could leave.  
“Sorry for the mess,” he mumbled once we’d pulled away. “It’s not my car. Belongs to me ex.”  
“You borrow your ex’s car?”  
“Ex-wife,” he said. “We’re on good terms.”  
“Sorry,” I smiled. “None of my business.”  
“Yeah, it’s really not,” he mumbled as we pulled out of the lot, finally on our way. “But it’s okay. Truth is, I’m going to be asking you some personal questions. It’s part of my job. So I guess it’s inevitable that we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well.”  
I was relieved that someone wasn’t offended at my big mouth like almost everyone was, and at the fact that this agent, a close friend of Scarlett’s nonetheless, cared so little about presentation. He himself was a very well-kept man, dressing in a navy cardigan and gray slacks, brown loafers and white button-up shirt. This is how you dress, guys. He was very articulate, obviously well-educated and I guessed probably raised in a well-to-do family. The messy car surprised me.  
“You could have cleaned up a bit if you knew you’d be meeting a new client today,” I attempted to joke. I shouldn’t attempt to joke. I suck at jokes.  
“Not really an option,” he answered. His answer was far more serious than I expected, and I decided I wouldn’t bring it up again. Only he kept talking about it. “She has a… thing,” he continued. “If I move anything, it, uh… it kinda messes her up. My car’s in the shop and I didn’t exactly have time to get a rental. Sorry about that.”  
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I was just talking. I’m nervous, I guess.”  
“Nervous? Why?”  
“Just, I don’t know.” I did, of course, know exactly why I was nervous, but for some reason I couldn’t talk about it.  
“Well Scarlett told me about you. Says you styled her through that press tour for _Quarter Lanes_ last year. I looked you up, and I have to say I was impressed.”  
“Thanks,” I probably blushed because I tend to do that. “But I didn’t design that stuff. This is all new to me.”  
“Well is it too creepy for me to tell you you’re in good hands now?”  
“Why would that be creepy?”  
He laughed a little, and holy crap, it was a beautiful laugh. “I don’t know. I mean it in the best way possible.” He turned into a small office district and began driving slower. Obviously we were close. “You’ve got your sketches and all that already? I can fax it all to the production company before they meet with you tomorrow.”  
I nodded.  
“Great. And I know you didn’t have much notice here, but how much do you actually know about the extent of the work or the type of project and all that?”  
I explained what I knew. Basically that it was set in 40s Chicago.  
“Nothing else?” he asked. He seemed surprised.  
“Yeah, no, that’s it. Why? Should I have known more?”  
He laughed as we parked in front of a very small office building. “Oh, Miss Fillmore. You have so much to learn.”  
I followed him inside, and was a bit confused as I saw the medical office just inside. But we stepped out a side door from that first office, down a long corridor, and finally into a very small office in the back of the building. There was something of a waiting room, though it was barely larger than my walk-in closet back home, and an even smaller office with a desk, two chairs, and a laptop. He led me into the office and told me to take a seat, and he inched himself on the other side of the desk and opened the computer, both of us silent for several painful minutes.  
“It’s an independent production,” he said finally. “Cast of 45 speaking roles and roughly 112 extras. Much of the costuming for minor roles has been cared for already by your supporting crew, but of course the featured costumes were under contract. Now that that’s over, this is a list of what you’ll need to come up with…” he handed me a list three pages long, front and back. “And you will have a sizable crew to assist you. Now let me see those sketches.”  
“Oh, I… I left them outside. They’re in my suitcase.”  
“Which one? I’ll go get it for you.”  
“The one with Horton on it.”  
“Horton?”  
“Hears a Who,” I added. “Um… the elephant.”  
He sighed and smiled and shook his head. I think he thought it was either the cutest or else the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen.  
He left to retrieve it, and with nothing else to do, I took a look around. There was no other furniture, but there were some diplomas and licenses on the wall and a few photos on the desk that faced toward his chair. Out of part curiosity, part boredom, I turned the photos around.  
They seemed like a happy family. Jamison, a woman I assumed was his ex, and three children – two boys and a girl. They were all smiling and beautiful and happy, sitting around a Christmas tree in ridiculous sweaters with a golden retriever in their midst. Typical, happy, all-American family, it seemed. But he had said he was divorced… curious.  
I turned the photo back just as he arrived with the case, and after a moment I had dug out my portfolio and we spent the better part of an hour going over details and presentation. There was some legal stuff to work out, lawyers needed to be present and contracts needed to be signed, but that would all take place once I had met with the production team and the director, and once it had been confirmed that  
I would have the job. Filming had been put on a one-month delay, so that was a relief at least.  
Jamison handed me the paperwork with instructions for the following day, as well as a pass onto the lot and directions to the correct office. I only started reading it for a moment before I read the name of the production company.  
“Hold the fucking phone,” I said. “Are you serious right now?”  
He grimaced. I guess he and Scarlett hoped I wouldn’t notice, or that it wouldn’t matter. “Is it going to be a problem?”  
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” I told him. “It’ll be… interesting.”  
“Don’t let that interfere with your goal. Remember, this opens doors to countless opportunities. Just because it’s a Combine production doesn’t mean--”  
“Yeah, no, you’re right,” I told him. “Fuck it. If he has a problem, it’s his problem.”  
He nodded. “Exactly. It’s strictly business. It has to be.”  
I agreed. Business. Strictly business.  
Didn’t mean I didn’t have a few words for Scarlett.  
…  
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”  
“What?” She asked defensively.  
“Oh, you know what! Jeremy’s company is producing this movie, and you didn’t think you’d share that little bit of information?”  
“Babe…”  
“Don’t ‘babe’ me!” I told her. “You did this to get me back with him, didn’t you?”  
“Now just think about what you just accused me of, okay? Do you think it was actually my doing that our costume designer, whom I adored, by the way, happened to quit a week before scheduled filming? Seriously? I couldn’t have planned that. I remembered you saying you wanted to get into design, and I thought of you when they all started panicking.”  
“And… Jeremy knows I’m coming?”  
“Who do you think is doing the interview?”  
“Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest or something?”  
“Honey, this is Hollywood.”  
Good point. “What did he have to say about it?”  
“He said it was a good choice, and he said he looked forward to working with you again.”  
I hung up on her just then. He looked forward to working with me again? Working with me?  
Prick.  
…  
And why the fuck did he have to look like that?  
Because he hated me, apparently.  
He knew how I adored him in sweaters. He knew how I adored him in gray. He knew how I loved him in glasses, how I almost always made him wear those stupid black leather oxfords and how I had been telling him for forever to shave that goatee.  
And it was like he’d taken notes on all that just to get his revenge that day.  
“Just you, then?” I asked.  
“It’s been sort of crazy,” Jeremy smiled as I sat in his office. Weird. He had an office.  
“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s what I hear.”  
He nodded with me, his eyes crinkling like they do when he smiles, and I had to smile because… I mean come on. You have to smile when _that_ is looking at you.  
“First of all, I want to just clear the air,” he started, and I interrupted because I really wasn’t ready to talk about it.  
“No, it’s… I know. To be honest, I didn’t even know you were involved in any of this until yesterday. I was interested in the job when I first heard about it.”  
“Well it was a really shitty thing to have to dissolve a contract last minute like that,” he said. He looked down at some very legal-y looking papers and spread them out on the table in front of him. “Uh… you’ve got your portfolio?”  
“And my prototype,” I told him. I opened the garment bag I had brought and presented it along with the binder full of designs. He looked over it all very thoroughly, asking what kind of material I would use on this one or that one, how well this one would hold up under water, would I be able to use a certain kind of stitching in one scene where the arm of a sleeve would be torn away, that sort of thing. I wasn’t sure how typical this was, an interview of this sort for a major project in a movie, but to be honest, I didn’t care if it was legal, much less typical. I was sort of distracted, to be honest. He just looked really, really great. I mean… fuck.  
“Welcome to the team, Lana,” he smiled, extending his hand. When I looked at the clock, almost two hours had passed, and I was surprised, to say the least.  
“I look forward to it,” I answered. I shook his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of it, so much larger than mine, and I wanted him to hold it forever. Not just those two or three seconds.  
I stood and gathered everything I’d brought, now being commissioned with more notes and specifics than before, and I started to leave, but he stopped me.  
“Hey, um…” he was searching for words I think, and I gave him the time he needed to do so. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. I was a shit boyfriend.”  
“Yeah,” I sighed. “But, you know, like I told you. All is forgiven.”  
“You look good. I think the breakup is agreeing with you.”  
I smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I was relieved at how easy this was. How it was as if we’d never had a fight. Like we’d never broken up at all… just been separated for a while, that’s all.  
“Good luck with all this,” he told me, leaning in for a hug. It was probably unprofessional, but that seemed to be the theme of this whole production thus far. I hugged him back gratefully. “I know you’ll be amazing.”  
“I sure hope so,” I said as my head rested on his shoulder, and as I closed my eyes, and as I remembered how he smelled.  
We had just broken from the hug when the door opened and a very tall, very beautiful red-haired woman walked in. “Oh, sorry, Jer,” she said. “I didn’t know you were busy.”  
“Just finishing up with a new member of the team. Oh, Lana, this is Christina. Chris, this is Lana. She’s heading costume design now.”  
“Nice to meet you,” she smiled.  
“You, too,” I said. “You’re in the movie?”  
“Oh, no,” she laughed a little. “I’m just here to drag this guy to lunch.” She hooked her arm through Jeremy’s and caressed it slowly with her other hand. “Reservations at one, babe.”  
“Right,” he answered. “Okay, Lana. I’ll see you… well… I don’t know exactly. I’ll have Dave call you with details.”  
I could see he never meant for me to see her, or at least not like this. She was oblivious to the fact that I used to be with him. Not that it would matter, as she had absolutely nothing to be insecure about. “Yeah,” I answered. “I’m sure David will be overjoyed to have me on the team.” I remembered all to well how his assistant kind of loathed me.  
“Ah, he’s over it,” Jeremy smiled. And it was the last smile I’d see on his that day.  
“Come on, love,” Christina tugged on his arm. “Sorry, Lana. This guy’s terrible at keeping promises, and I’m gonna get him to hold this date if it’s the last thing I do!”  
We walked out the door together, and they went one way while I went mine.  
I was glad to see him happy, to be honest. But I wasn’t really ready to see him that happy that soon.  
This was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana learns one of Jamison's secrets, and Jeremy and Christina take Lana to dinner.

They gave me a crew of twelve seamstresses, three collaborating designers, and even a personal assistant.   
At first it was unsettling. For once, I was the one giving orders. I was the one running things. I was the one who got to choose color and material and got to watch _The Philadelphia Story_ and _Anchors Aweigh_ and _Arsenic and Old Lace_ and all of my other favorite movies in the name of research. I got to have a say in makeup and hair design and even in the lighting and scenery choices. And the cherry on top? I got a bagel brought to my room every morning. By my assistant. My assistant.  
Her name is Mary, by the way.  
Scarlett took advantage of the month-long delay by taking an impromptu charity run to the east coast for hurricane relief. You know, because she wasn’t already perfect enough.  
I hate her so much.  
And then somehow, we were doing tests with models, running through “scenes” in my designs. And Amanda was right – it was as intimate as if I had been walking around set naked all day. Seeing other people in clothes I personally designed, everything hand-picked by me, being judged by producers and technical assistants and the director and eventually the actors themselves, it was insane. The only constant I had through it all was Jamison.  
We had meetings nearly every day. He had arranged for me to find temporary housing, paid for as per the terms of my contract (Have I mentioned I fucking loved having an agent?). He found me a driver, found me Mary, pointed out the best bagel spots to send her to for my high-carb breakfasts, and even got me an interview for a local theatre production that would have me start work for them once I was done with this little project. If I decided to stay in LA, that is.  
About a week before filming was to start, I ran into a minor snafu with one of my designs. Louis, the cinematographer, was insistent on a particular shade of red for a dress one of the featured extras… something to do with setting the subtext and foreshadowing a love interest. Anyway, as it turned out the lighting and filters made the dress look distinctly orange, and no matter how many different materials or what kind of lighting was used, no one had gotten the correct shade of red to please Louis. I found the entire process frankly ridiculous, and only because I had no one to bitch to about it, I called Jamison.  
“Miss Fillmore,” he greeted me. He always used my last name, and to be completely honest, I sort of loved it. Made me feel so important.  
“Mr. Rhodes,” I answered back the same.  
“What can I do for you this fine morning?”  
“Is it too early to start drinking?” I asked.  
“It’s always too early to start drinking.”  
“You don’t drink?”  
“Miss Fillmore, when you do what I do with as little luck as I seem to have with it, you learn to stay as far away from the vices as possible. No drinking, no drugs, no smoking, no sex.”  
No sex? What fun is that?   
“Mr. Rhodes, I would very much like to rip off the head of one of my crew members.”  
“Just fire whoever it is. I’m sure they can be replaced.”  
“No, it’s not my crew member, I mean it’s someone I work with. Louis, to be exact.”  
“Oh, yeah. I hear he can be trouble.” I could tell by the tone in his voice that he didn’t think ripping heads off of people was a great thing. Okay, I mean I’m sure he doesn’t approve of head-ripping-offs anyway, but you know what I mean. I hope.  
“I just need to calm down,” I told him. “Point me in the direction of a good bar.”  
“I’ll do you one better,” he said. “You like burgers?”  
“Burgers?”  
“Yeah, you know… meat on a bun.”  
“I know what – I mean, yeah. I like burgers.”  
“Good. There’s a place on Fairway called Lupito’s. Meet me there in ten.”  
I met him at Lupito’s. My first impression was that I was sure they served exactly twelve separate varieties of food poisoning and included rat feces on the house, and that kids five and under dine free. But then I remembered that I had thought the same thing of Athens Elite when I first tried them, and it was and still is to this day my favorite restaurant.  
He seemed to have been inside for some time, as he had already had a table and a glass of Coke before I spotted him. In front of him lay a well-worn copy of _O. Henry’s Complete Short Stories_ and on top of the book sat a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. Underneath both of those items there was a clipboard with I’m sure many more papers than it was originally designed to hold. He wore a black pen behind his ear and a toothpick in his mouth, and he smiled up to me as I approached him.  
“Hell of a week,” I said immediately, tossing my purse onto the booth. “It’s not enough the seamstresses didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a pleated skirt, but on top if that, I have Louis saying--”  
“No, no, no,” he shook his head.  
I couldn’t believe his gall. “Excuse me?”  
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. But you need to try the Jalapeño burger.”  
I stared at him in silence because… yeah. I was in the middle of talking.  
“I’m gonna get you one. You like cheddar or pepper jack? Never mind. I’ll choose. Wait here.” He rose and approached the counter as I continued to stare at the seat where he had been.  
Seriously. Some balls this guy had.  
In about five minutes, he had returned with the biggest fucking burger I’ve ever seen. Cheese coming out the sides, peppers everywhere, like, three quarter-pound patties. Heart attack city.”  
“I’m not eating this,” I said.  
He looked as if I’d just run over his puppy. “But… I bought it for you.”  
“Doesn’t mean I have to eat it.”  
“It would make me happy.”  
“I know, but it would probably kill me.”  
“You a vegetarian?”  
I sighed as I pushed it toward him. “I didn’t ask you to buy me this. You didn’t even ask me. You just did it. You could have asked me.”  
He looked down at it in front of him sadly, then slowly smiled as he looked back up at me. “One bite.”  
“No,” I said firmly.  
He pushed it back to me and smiled wider. “One bite, and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”  
“No.”  
“One bite, and if you don’t love it, I will go down to the set with you tomorrow and I will personally rip off Louis Berkeridge’s head.”  
Now that was a promise I could get on board with. “Really?”  
“Really,” he nodded.  
“And if I take two bites?”  
“Well if you take two bites, I will assume you liked it, and I won’t need to rip anyone’s head off because this will make you feel better.”  
I grabbed the knife and fork as fast as I could and applied them to the burger, but his hand reached out and softly touched mine. “No, that’s cheating,” he said. “You have to pick it up and eat it just like that.”  
“Like this? But that’s… uncivilized!”  
“I almost forgot,” he said, backing into his seat once again. “You come from Chicago, land of eating pizza with a knife and fork.”  
“Yes I do,” I answered. “And I’m proud of it. And if the same rule applies to food I encounter elsewhere, I unashamedly use the knife and fork.”  
“No deal, then.”  
“What? No fair!”  
“You have to do it the way I say,” he told me. “I’m sorry, but I simply cannot relent.”  
After a moment, I pursed my lips and gripped the burger, which was now oozing grease down each of my arms and I was just grateful I was finally earning enough money to get my clothes dry-cleaned and replaced. I moved it up to my lips, debating internally whether it was worth making a fool of myself.   
Who was I kidding? I made a fool of myself all the time anyway. This time it was just for what was going into my mouth rather than what was coming out of it.  
I opened wide and took the biggest bite I could, keeping my eyes locked on Jamison’s as I chewed and chomped and eventually swallowed that enormous bite of what was probably already pushing a thousand calories.  
“Well?” He asked, literally on the edge of his seat.  
I placed the burger back on the dish and pushed it back to him. “That was the single most disgusting thing I have ever put in my mouth. And you should see some of the guys I’ve dated.”  
He laughed so hard that I think a little bit of Coke came out of his mouth. I laughed along because A., I had said something entertaining, and B., his was a laugh I found it hard not to be a part of. “You owe me, Mr. Jamison.”  
He calmed down and gathered his things. “I believe I do. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”  
…  
When we arrived back at the offices on lot, I made my way to Louis’s office first so that we could, as Jamison put it, get it over with. He was absent, however, and Jamison suggested that we simply tour the place until he arrived.  
“Can we do that?” I asked.  
“You’re head of costume design,” he reminded me. “You can do whatever you want.”  
Oh yeah…  
So I did. Or rather, we did. I showed him everything from the trailers to the set to the warehouse from which I could choose my accessories to the place where the director sits to the dollies to the lighting to the offices. And it was when we got to those offices that things started to get… well… I don’t know. Different, I guess.  
I found myself enjoying his company far more than I had been able to enjoy anyone’s company in the seven or so months that I had been single. Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t planning on jumping into a relationship any time soon. I was actually happy being single. Flirting. Staying out late with no one to answer to. Not feeling guilty if I missed a holiday or an anniversary or a birthday. Checking out guys’ asses and not trying to hide it. But with Jamison, things were just right. It was comfortable. He was my agent, so I automatically felt secure with him. But it was more. I feel like he would have been protecting me even if he wasn’t getting paid to do so.  
“This is my little office,” I told him. We had approached my door, and it even had my name and rank on it. “Wanna come in?”  
He smiled, but this was a different smile. “I should probably get going. I can do that thing for you tomorrow maybe.”  
“Oh come on,” I said. He had already started to turn around before I stopped him. “I’m not asking into my home. Nothing inappropriate here. Just come in and be jealous of all the space I have compared to you.”  
He nodded and followed me in, but something still seemed distant. He did seem to admire the space and maybe he was a little jealous, and then I felt bad because I had kinda rubbed it in his face, hadn’t I?  
“One day I’ll have an office. A real office, I mean.”  
“You have a real office now,” I told him. “And you have clients and everything.”  
“Client,” he corrected me. “Just one. Just you.”  
“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. He had connections… how was it possible? “Work load too much?”  
“No, it’s not that,” he explained. He finished pacing and sat beside me on the edge of my desk, folding his arms in front of him and looking at the floor as he spoke. “There’s some stuff I’m working out. You know, personally.”  
“Like what?”  
I immediately realized I shouldn’t have asked, but then he started answering. “I don’t really like to talk about it, but it’s my wife. My ex-wife, I mean. We’ve only been divorced a few months, so I’m still getting used to that.” He looked at me suddenly, and finding myself feeling incredibly awkward, I simply widened my eyes in response.  
“You look like an owl when you do that, Miss Fillmore,” he said.  
“Is that a bad thing?”  
“No,” he answered. “No, I like your big owl eyes.”  
Now I was awkward for another reason.  
“Anyway,” he continued, “She hasn’t been well, and I’m trying to help with the kids and such, but it’s hard for her. I promise you she’s not a bad person. She’s not a bad mother, even. She’s just sick.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“She was diagnosed with schizophrenia two years ago after our daughter died. Doctors said she probably always had it, but Amari’s death triggered it, and she just… She had a hard time. We fought. She hurt me. And eventually she left me and took the boys with her. But Gloria’s not a bad person. She just thinks… she thinks something bad will happen to them the minute they’re out of her sight.”  
“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say.  
“She’s working on it,” he told me. “She takes medication and she goes to therapy and she’s made some incredible improvements. But I have had to make a few sacrifices for her and the kids to have better lives. It’s okay. It’s worth it.”  
I nodded. “You’re a good man, Mr. Rhodes.”  
“I hope so,” he smiled. And it was good to see him smile. He turned around and looked on the desk, picking up the copy of the script I had lying there. “ _The Clock on the Wall_ ,” he read. “Is it any good?”  
“Scarlett Johansson is a dear friend,” I told him.  
“So… it sucks?”  
I gripped the script and placed it on his desk. “I am very proud to be working on this film.”  
At that moment, his phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it. “It’s Glory,” he said, speaking of his ex, apparently. “See you tomorrow?”  
“Of course,” I told him. I walked him to the door and saw him out. “You owe me a headless cinematographer!”  
He laughed a little on his way out, and I turned around to walk back to my office just as I bumped into a very familiar chest.  
“Jeremy!” I announced and reminded us both of his identity. “You scared the shit out of me!”  
“I hope not literally,” he replied.  
“Disgusting.” I tapped his arm playfully as I began walking back to my office. “What are you doing here?”  
“Oh, you know. Little of this. Little of that. Is that your boyfriend?”  
I looked back at the glass door through which we could still see Jamison as he walked to his car. “No,” I answered. “Why?”  
“What was he doing here?”  
“Why?”  
“Well… no. Nothing. Just curious.”  
I had reached my office by this point and let myself in, and I guess out of habit, left the door open behind me as Jeremy followed me in. “He’s my agent,” I said.  
“Oh, okay.”  
“You seem strangely relieved about that,” I remarked. The sigh and slight smile were big clues about how he seemed to feel.  
“No, it’s just that I would be surprised to see you dating so soon.”  
As he helped himself to my desk chair, I stood on the other side of the desk and cocked my head as I answered back defensively, “You’re dating. Why couldn’t I be?”  
“No, I don’t mean so soon after us. I mean so soon after getting here.”  
“Still,” I answered. “It’s been a few weeks.”  
“Well good luck. I hope you find someone then.”  
“What are you doing in here?” I asked. Because now he was just kind of pissing me off. “You have your own office, you know.”  
“Yeah, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to you really since you got here.”  
“Well now isn’t the time. I have stuff to do.”  
“Let’s do dinner tonight.”  
“Dinner? Us? You’re kidding, right?”  
“Why not? And hey, just so it’s not weird, why don’t you bring a date? I’ll bring Chris.”  
“I don’t want to bring a date. I’ll be fine.”  
“You don’t think that’ll be uncomfortable?”  
“I don’t really care.”  
“We’re just hashing it out. It’s fine. I told her everything about you, so don’t worry. She doesn’t feel threatened.”  
“Threatened?”  
“Yeah,” he answered. “Unless you feel like you’re gonna feel threatened.”  
“Why is anyone going to feel threatened?” I asked. And I admit my tone of voice may have been a little off.  
“I don’t want you to feel bad for feeling single. That’s all.”  
I was completely pissed off now. “Fine!” I answered. “Rubio’s! 8! Wear a tie!”  
“Fine!” he hollered back, though he wasn’t angry at all. “I will!” He stood and left and I slammed the door behind him. What an asshole.  
…  
I think I picked Rubio’s because it was the only place in the city I specifically remembered going out to with Jeremy. Clearly it was overly formal considering the occasion.  
When he showed up, I could have died. Of all the outfits the man owns – and I happen to know he owns several – he had to wear that one. He had to wear that shiny silver three-piece with the black tie and white shirt. And fuckitall he was wearing those shoes.  
Christina on his arm looked like Grace Kelly, short black cocktail dress, Dolce and Gabbana, very nice. Louboutins, of course. Hair done up and nails just right and skin so clear that it made you wonder whose baby she sacrificed in her deal with the devil that made her look that way.  
I showed up in what I had thought was a pleasant green chiffon dress. Now I felt like I might as well have been wearing a garbage bag.  
“So good to see you again, Lana,” Chris smiled.  
It took me a moment to comprehend that this magnificent creature was acknowledging my existence. “You too,” I smiled, shaking her hand. Why did I shake her hand? Because I’m incredibly awkward around beautiful people, that’s why.  
We got to our table and sat and ordered drinks, and the entire time, all I could think about was why the hell didn’t I bring a date. And when conversation started, when it hit full-swing I mean, I could only focus on the fact that the drinks weren’t coming fast enough.  
“We’re building a house in the Valley right now,” Christina said. “It’s not for us. Just an investment. We bought a quality piece of property there and decided to build on it.”  
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, a bit confused, “We?”  
“Yeah, me and Jer,” she answered.  
Shit.  
“It’s not his first independent design, but it is his first that’s from the ground up.” She paused from bragging on him to elaborate. “Three floors, media room, six bedrooms, seven bathrooms.”  
“Now, see, that’s something I never understood,” I started to say.  
“Oh yeah. Yeah you don’t understand why houses sometimes have more bathrooms than bedrooms,” Jeremy finished. “Because you don’t understand why anyone needs that many bathrooms.”  
“Give me a good reason. I mean a really good reason,” I told him. “You can’t do it!”  
He smiled and pulled at the glass in my hand. “You ask too many questions when you drink,” he joked.  
“I ask all the right questions,” I answered. “Tell me!”  
He laughed his weird, loopy laugh and answered. “It sells a house. It doesn’t have to make sense.”  
“It actually contributed to the overall economic value of the property,” Chris interjected. “You have to think about when you entertain. Homes like that are often host to parties and events, and it’s just good sense to make sure there are plenty of facilities.”  
“Oh! Smarty pants!” I was laughing. In retrospect, I had probably had a drink too many.  
“Yeah, well, to be honest, she has a better head for business than I do.”  
“Really?” I asked. “You’re a wonderful businessman, Jeremy. I find it hard to believe that she’s better at that stuff than you.”  
“Well that’s why he loves me!” She smiled. “Tell her that’s why you love me, Jer.”  
His smile began to fade and things just became severely uncomfortable.   
“Tell her, come on!”   
She was just smiling and having fun and being cute. But dammit, it hurt. It hurt so badly.  
“Uh… yep,” he smiled forcefully. “She’s actually very good at that stuff.”  
“He’s marrying me for my brain,” she smiled.  
He stared blankly at the table, and I at him, and she at me.   
Jeremy gripped her hand on the table and held it there. He kept trying to say something, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. He was at a loss. So was I. And that’s when it occurred to me that he probably hadn’t told her who I was. Who I had been. Who I’d been with.  
Unfortunately, she was smart. She was smart enough to know something was up. Although I guess even Stevie Wonder could see that something was going on between me and Jeremy.  
“I’m gonna go touch up my lipstick,” she said. “Order me the chicken, will you, babe?”  
He nodded as she walked away, and once she’d gone he looked up to me. “Yeah. I was planning on telling you.”  
“It would have been nice to have some notice.”  
“I’m sorry, Lana. I’m so sorry.”  
So was I. But I just couldn’t say anything. Not anything. I just sat there like a dumbass while he twiddled his thumbs and tapped his feet under the table and stared at me, waiting for a response that I was in no way prepared to give.   
“I shouldn’t have brought her,” he said. “I just really thought you’d bring a date.”  
“Married?”  
He nodded. “We’ve talked about it.”  
“But… married? Like, married? Like, kids and stuff?”  
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess. All of that.”  
“How long have you been with her? Six months? And you’re going to marry her?”  
“I don’t know,” he said. “I told you I don’t know. We’ve talked about it, that’s all.”  
“She seems to think it’s happening,” I told him. “Did you see that smile she had when she talked about it? So either you’re lying to me or you’re leading her on, and both are equally asshatty.”  
“Asshatty?” he asked.  
“Oh, stop smiling. I’m a little drunk.” I think I probably smiled back, because he smiled bigger.  
“Are we okay?” he asked.   
“I don’t know… maybe. Yeah. We have to be, don’t we?”  
“It would make things easier.”  
I took another sip and the waiter came for our order and Christina still hadn’t returned. “Jeremy, are you… I mean, does she make you happy?”  
He leaned back, playing with the rim of his glass as he answered. “She makes me want to be happy. After you, I didn’t really want to be happy. I didn’t really want to be anything.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well I just mean I fucked things up with you, and I was just in a really bad place, and she kind of, I don’t know, pulled me out of that place and made me want to be happy again.”  
“Yeah,” I answered, leaning in on the table. “But are you happy?”  
Christina made her return obvious, as every head was turned as she returned from the ladies’ room. She sat beside him and we both smiled at her, and she smiled in response as she reached over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.  
He looked back at me and gave me a slight nod.  
And I guess that was the answer. Not the answer I wanted, but it was an answer.  
After dinner, Jeremy excused himself to talk to an old friend he had spotted during the meal. As soon as he left, Christina and I felt the awkward tension building in the silence, and I decided, hey. Why not be the one to break it?  
“So how did you guys meet? You work with him?”  
“Actually,” she cleared her throat. “Yeah.”  
“You look familiar. Were you that model he did that GQ photo shoot with?”  
“No.”  
“Oh, were you in that movie with him? That Mission Impossible movie? You played one of the showgirls, didn’t you?”  
“No, I…”  
“No, wait,” I smiled. “I want to guess.”  
“You’ll never guess,” she said.  
“Fine. Tell me.”  
“My company worked in collaboration with his on a short film last year.”  
“Your company?”  
“Yes. Have you heard of Jumi? It’s my production company.”  
“Your company. Your production company. That you run.”  
“Yeah,” she smiled. “See, I guess I come across as some sort of privileged, average, plastic, carbon-copy bimbo, but I’m not. I have a good head on my shoulders, Lana. Sorry to disappoint you.”  
“Disappoint me?”  
“You used to go with him, didn’t you? And not that long ago, either. Am I right?”  
I nodded.  
“Yeah. I thought so. The way you look at him, the way you talk to him, the way you are in general… you probably still have a thing for him. And hey, I don’t blame you.”  
“I don’t have a thing for him.”  
She snickered sarcastically. “How long ago did he break up with you?”  
“He didn’t. I broke up with him.”  
Jeremy started to walk back. I expected her to drop it, but she didn’t. “Why would I believe that?”  
“Because he’ll back me up,” I answered. “Just ask him.”  
“Jer, babe,” she said as soon as he came back. “Which one of you broke up with which one of you?”  
He sighed. “Are we really talking about this?”  
“Yes,” we answered in unison.   
He thought for a moment. “I think it was mutual.”  
“It’s never mutual,” She said.  
“No, come to think of it,” I replied, “Yes, it was.” I knew it wasn’t and so did he. But at this point, I just wanted to fuck with her.  
“Yeah I was horrible to her, and I asked her if there was any way she could forgive me. She said she didn’t see that happening, I said I thought that was best, and we wished each other a happy life. Done.”  
I could go with that story, sure.  
“And you guys,” she asked. “You guys are cool with each other? And you’re cool with working together given the past?”  
“Of course,” I shrugged. “It just didn’t work for us. Clearly you make him happier than I ever could. I wish you guys every happiness.”  
We finished up and went our separate ways, and I had just pulled into my driveway when I received a text. I looked down at my phone and saw the text.

_FROM: JEREMY_   
_RECEIVED 11:52 PM_   
_To answer your question from earlier, yes._   
_Thanks for being cool with that. You’re the best._

Yeah. I _am_ the best.  
I’m the best liar in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Jeremy hash it out.

Chapter 3

I could go into excruciating detail about deadlines and sketches and fabric samples and seamstresses and how many of every costume we needed and who wore what when and how we finally resolved the issue of the lady in red. But it would make you stop reading immediately, and I wouldn’t be writing down this story if I didn’t think it was important for you to read every bit of it.  
Point is, it felt like hours, not weeks, from the time I went to dinner with Jeremy and Chris. But here we were on the very first day of filming, and I was about to see Scarlett for the very first time as she was meant to be wearing that dress. I designed that dress. Me. I contributed. And god almighty, she looked perfect.  
The premise of the movie was complicated. My conclusion was that the man who wrote it was either very, very high, or was dared to write a movie with a ridiculous premise and overdone dialogue. Somehow, I guess it was seen as artsy, but I didn’t see it that way. Maybe because I love a good romance, and this movie didn’t have that.   
The scenes weren’t shot in order, which was a concept I never understood before this movie. But they did film the very first scene on the first day of filming, so that was fun. I hadn’t read the script, only having certain scenes highlighted for me to use as my platform from which to build. But I could see that an old woman was sitting behind one of those glass windows in jail on one of those little phones, and she’s telling another woman that she supposes she will go ahead and tell her life’s story because she’s old now and will die any day.  
So that’s when the flashbacks start. Woman talks about how she was a lounge singer and that she worked entertaining the troops and touring with Bob Hope and all sorts of other ridiculous claims. But one thing that could not be denied was that she had killed seventeen men. She was only convicted on three at three separate trials, but she insisted it had been seventeen. She names them. Describes them. Mimics their voices. It’s all very dark and creepy. I don’t like seeing Scarlett this way.  
She first appears in a malt shop in a burgundy dress with a brown jacket and a mink stole. She delivers every clever line, flirts effortlessly with the malt man, gets her treats for free, and that is how we see her. Not Scarlett, but her character – Lilian Paul. Honestly, I didn’t have to be there. The fittings and dress rehearsals and lighting tests were done. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was magnificent.  
About half way through that first day, Jeremy showed up. Like me, he didn’t have to be there, but he showed up in support of his friend. I watched him enter the set and sit on the opposite side of the room from me, and even though I hadn’t spoken to him in two weeks, I thought maybe I’d go say hello. You know, just to be polite.  
He nodded at me in acknowledgement, and I just stood there with him as they shot Scarlett’s scenes three at a time. Then they would review it with her. Then they would do it again. She would improvise a bit here, stand in this shot, sit in this other one, and they would sort of choose what they liked as it progressed. I didn’t know much about the making of films, but this seemed a little extreme.  
“You can always tell the rookies from the vets,” Jeremy finally said to me. “Nice thing about rookies is that they tend to be perfectionists. Bad thing about rookies is that they tend to be perfectionists.”  
I smiled a little. It was such a Jeremy thing for him to say. “She’s incredibly patient.”  
“She’s got a lot invested into this movie,” he explained. “Not money, I mean. She’s friends with Joe over there, who is married to Cal’s sister, who knows Laurence from college, and they wanted Freddy to do this movie, but only if Scarlett would do it.”  
I furrowed my brow, as they say, because I had no idea who any of those people were. “Right.”  
“So how’ve you been?” he asked.  
“Fine,” I answered. “Why?”  
“What do you mean why? I was just asking how you’ve been. I didn’t ask you what color your underwear was.”  
“Sorry,” I answered, shaking my head a little. “I’m tired. I haven’t slept in a month, and I haven’t found a decent gyro place yet.”  
“Sorry to hear that, Lana. I know how you love your gyros.”  
“I do love my gyros,” I smiled. And as I looked up at him, at him watching her, it reminded me of those first days when we were touring, and how he admired her. How I knew I never had a chance. How, when I finally got the chance, he didn’t seem to care enough to make it work. “How are you?” I asked finally.  
“Tired, same as you,” he said. “Been staying up late nights.”  
“And how’s Chris?” I knew I should ask, even though I didn’t want to.  
He looked at me finally and moved his lips to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “She’s fine.”  
“How are the wedding plans coming along?”  
“Lana, you don’t have to talk about her.”  
“No,” I insisted. “It’s fine. She really is wonderful. I mean, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little surprised you had moved on so soon, but, I mean, what’s the point in stalling? Clearly we weren’t together anymore, and seven months seems like plenty of time for you to be with her and know that she’s The One.”  
“We’ve actually only been together three months,” he told me. “We met a while before, but we haven’t actually been together that long.”  
Three months. Wonderful.  
“So… wedding plans?”  
He smiled a little. “I don’t think we have any set plans,” he said. “We’re just, you know, in a good place. Seeing how things go.”  
I didn’t want to ask, but before I knew it my mouth was open and the words were spilling out. “Are you in love with her?”  
I thought it would surprise him that I was asking, or at least make him hesitate to answer. I was done with Jeremy a long time ago. I knew we had no future, and I knew I was well on my way to being over him, but…surely this would tell him that I still had some sort of flame for him, right?  
He answered without hesitation. “Yeah. Very much so.”  
“Good,” I nodded. “I’m glad. So marry the girl before she gets away from you.”  
“She’s in no hurry,” he said. “She understands what my schedule is like and what goes on in this business. She gets that. It’s a nice change.”  
Say what?  
“Change from what?” I asked.  
“You know.”  
“Change from me, you mean?”  
“Well, not just you. All the women I’ve been with over the last few years. Most don’t get what goes in to my daily life and just how few obligations I can actually get out of, even in times of crisis.”  
“Yeah, but I always thought that if you loved someone enough, you could find a way to put their needs before your own.”  
“It’s a fine line between need and strong desire,” he said. “Someone may think they need you to be around for them, but you know that they don’t need you. That they’re perfectly strong and capable and able to be on their own. They just really want you there. And if they really love you, they will only ask you to be around when the need is actually a need, and not just a desire.”  
“I see your point,” I said. “But maybe if there wasn’t such a severe distance between the two people in the relationship, it would be easier to deal with the rigorous schedules and family emergencies.”  
“Well each participant in the relationship is equally as capable of moving to the other’s vicinity, unless of course one of those participant’s entire living is based in one place, and that participant absolutely cannot relocate.”  
“Well maybe that’s when the participant who cannot relocate asks the other participant to move in with them to make things easier.”  
“Yeah, but what if that other participant is a cat person, and the first participant doesn’t like cats?”  
“Bartholomew is a beautiful person in a cat’s body!” I screeched at him. Him and his passive-aggressive behavior and his smug looks and his weirdly inappropriate thing for dogs versus cats.  
“Can you guys keep it down over there?”  
We both looked to see one of the sound techs wiring microphones and looking over at us. “Sorry,” Jeremy nodded.  
I looked at the ground because I was a little ashamed of the one thing I managed to yell loudly enough to be heard on set. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.   
“This is why it couldn’t work with us,” Jeremy told me. When I looked back up, he was looking at me, those strange kaleidoscope eyes smiling softly in my direction. “Because you and I are both too strong-willed to change for anyone, and one of us would have had to change in order for us to work.”  
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I know. A conversation about it at some point probably would have been a good idea, though. Just to get it all out in the open. We never even talked about it, did we? Just some phone calls and that last visit you made to get your stuff from my place.”  
“And Annie.”  
“Annie?” Why would he mention that stray dog from my apartment complex?  
“Yeah. I never told you, but I brought her back with me.”  
“You… are kidding.”  
“No,” he smiled a bit. “I always liked her, and for a year, she was just sort of around. I asked before I took her, and everyone said she was a stray that everyone around had been taking turns feeding and giving shelter to, so I just took her home with me. She’s really a very good dog, you know.”  
“Yeah I know!” I said firmly, paying more attention to my noise level. “I thought she died or something!”  
“No, she’s at my house.”  
I sighed and crossed my arms just as Scarlett was chatting up some guy in her hotel room. “Take a stray dog that was probably flea-ridden and full of disease, but not your own girlfriend.”  
“You wouldn’t have left Gramma,” he said, casually standing from his seat. “And by the time she was gone, we were done, anyway.”  
I followed him as he walked out of the building. “You made no apologies for missing out on the planning!” I scolded as harshly as I could once I knew we couldn’t be heard. “And you missed the funeral by an entire day!”  
“I know! And you don’t think I felt like shit for that?” He stopped as we were now in the middle of the parking lot and he looked at me.  
“I hope you did,” I said quietly.  
He shook his head and approached me slowly. “Look, I know I was a dick. But you don’t have to pretend I was deliberately doing things to piss you off. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t do it like that. And if I didn’t want to be with you, I would have told you. All that stuff, I didn’t mean for it to happen. You know I didn’t want us to break up, don’t you?”  
No. I didn’t. “You didn’t make an effort.”  
“I did,” he said. “But you couldn’t see that because we were 3,000 miles apart.”  
“Well…” I wanted to say that we’re not now, that now we’re right next to each other, and that other than my incredible love for my city, there’s nothing that keeps me there. I could have left Chicago, and I would have. I would have done anything to be with him. But now, I couldn’t. It was too late.  
And besides, he was right. We were both too strong and too stubborn for compromise. And every relationship requires some amount of compromise, doesn’t it?  
“Look, we’re going to work together,” he said. “I’m gonna be seeing you damn near every day here, and I think it would be a good idea for us to get along. I meant to sort of talk it out with you a couple weeks ago, but that ended up being a bit of a train wreck, so why don’t you and I talk? What are you doing tonight?”  
“Tonight,” I thought for a second. “I have inventory. But I can get one of my people to do that.”  
“Okay, tonight we’re gonna hang out. Why don’t you just come over to my house?”  
“Is… Chris okay with that?”  
“Nice thing about Chris,” he said. “She doesn’t get jealous. It’s another nice change.”  
“Asshole.”  
“You coming over tonight or what?”  
“Fine!” I agreed. “What time?”  
“Eight,” he said. “Just tell Zeke you’re coming to see me, but he’ll probably remember you.”  
I nodded. “Yeah. This… this is a good idea, right?”  
He fumbled for his keys as he answered. “I think we need to have that talk we never had,” he said. “So yeah, it’s a good idea.”  
…  
Zeke was standing at his post, loyal as ever. I pulled up to the guard’s shack beside the gate and smiled up to the dashing sexagenarian and he waved back.  
“Miss Flintstone!” He smiled with such glee I didn’t have it in my heart to correct him.  
“Zeke! You look handsome as ever.”  
He winked at me and stepped out of the shack to stand closer to my car. I hadn’t asked for this, but I like to be nice to good people. “You gonna see Mr. Renner now?”  
“Yes, did he tell you?”  
“He said he’d have a visitor at eight, only it’s a tad early. I should really call him up.”  
“If you think you have to,” I answered. “But I don’t think he’ll mind. We’re old friends, remember?”  
“Alls I remember’s getting you two to straighten up afore the cops come and arrest ya for public indecency.”  
I remembered, too. Sort of. “Sorry about that again,” I told him. “I’d much rather stick around and keep you company ‘til eight than have you call him up. I hate to inconvenience him.”  
“Oh, honey, what would you want with an old redneck what’s old enough to be your… big brother?”  
I faked a laugh. He’d easily used that line half a dozen times with me before. “What’s the verdict, handsome?”  
He looked into the gated community and nodded. “Seeing as you’re his girl, I s’pose I oughta go ahead and letcha in,” he winked, walking back to the shed. “Now don’t you go wandering round the neighborhood now.”  
“I won’t, love,” I promised.   
Zeke was always doing me favors, and I’d always sort of liked him in about as non-sexual way as you can imagine. But he had an awful memory for some things. He’d remember people and occasions fond in his memory, but never the things he didn’t like. He remembered me, for example, and that romp I had with Jeremy in his car (and when I say romp, I mean road head), but he didn’t remember that Jeremy and I had broken up long ago, or that I shared my last name with a president, not a cartoon character.  
The home Jeremy was currently living in was my favorite. He had just finished remodeling it toward the end of our relationship, and he fell in love with it so hard he had to live there instead of selling it like all the others. It was a deco house, very Gatsby, complete with fountains and marble and pillars. It wasn’t extraordinarily grand, though it was decidedly posh, and probably my favorite part about the place was the front door. Double doors. Salvaged wood. Custom stained glass. Vintage doorknob.   
I was sexually attracted to that door.  
I rang the bell, and it took him far too long to answer. I expected him to be dressed in something sweet and simple, but not like this. Not sweatpants and white tee shirt and grandma slippers.  
“What the hell are you wearing?”  
“Good evening to you, too,” he nodded. “Come in.”  
I stepped inside and handed him the bottle in my hand. “Place is still a dump I see.”  
He chuckled. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” he joked. “Wow, did you spring for the twelve-dollar bottle, Lana? I should tell them not to pay you so much. You’re getting spoiled.”  
“I got it at a gas station,” I answered. “I wasn’t thinking about it until I left the city.”  
He put the bottle on ice and walked through the kitchen into the living room. “You’re a little earlier than I expected.”  
“Yeah, well… I didn’t think it made sense to leave work and go all the way home. Hope you don’t mind.”  
“I don’t mind. Can I get you anything?”  
“Glass of that wine might be good,” I answered.  
“Really? I mean, not to be rude, but I have much better stuff in the cooler.”  
“Nope, I want that one.”  
He poured me a glass and poured himself one as well in the spirit of being neighborly and sat in the armchair opposite the couch I was on. “How did your day end up?”  
“I want to kill Louis,” I told him. “But other than that, nothing much.”  
“Well that isn’t anything we haven’t all fantasized about at one point or another,” he smiled. “I’m gonna go make dinner.”  
“You’re making it?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You cook?”  
“Yeah.”   
“Since when?”  
We had arrived at the kitchen again, and he pulled down a couple pots and pans before he answered. “Since… about a year ago.”  
“Really? Did you take classes?”  
He nodded.  
“I never had any idea.”  
“Yeah, well…” He filled one with water and tossed a bit of sea salt inside. “It was a surprise.”  
Change the subject, Lana.  
“What are you making?”  
“Shrimp and spaghetti,” he answered. “Because it’s all I have in the house and I need to go shopping.”  
I smiled. “Sounds yummy. Can I help?”  
He gripped a pan and placed it on top of the stove. “You know how to cook shrimp?”  
“No,” I answered.  
“Super easy,” he explained. “Come here.”  
He showed me how to devein and detail the shrimp, how to cook them at the right temperature, when to flip them, how to tell by their color when they were done – everything. And for about ten minutes, I got that feeling again. You know, the one where nothing ever changed and he and I were still together and he wasn’t an asshole and I wasn’t too picky and we were both perfectly capable of compromise. But then he started making the marinara sauce, and I was flipping crustaceans, and the feeling went away.  
“Does Christina live here, too?” I asked him.  
“No, she has a place in Malibu. It’s a lot nicer than this. Beachside, wrap-around deck, even has one of those pools that’s a balcony.”  
“Oh yeah, those are cool,” I commented. I didn’t want to talk about her. I was just being nice. “So is she going to sell it when you guys get married?”  
“No, I’ll probably move in there,” he answered. He was chopping tomatoes. Goddamn fucking tomatoes.  
“But you love this place,” I told him as if he never knew. “You said you’d never sell.”  
“No, I said I couldn’t picture myself selling it. But I can picture it now, no problem.”  
Of course it was no problem. It was no problem because I had told him I agreed, and that it was my dream house, and that I could picture us here forever. He never shared those sentiments. Not really.  
Forty-five minutes later, dinner was set. Surprisingly, it was amazing. Homemade marinara and fresh shrimp and whole-grain noodles make a delicious combination. Also, we’d gone through the entire bottle of my cheap wine and had started on one of Jeremy’s. By the time dinner was over, I was in no condition to go anywhere.  
“Wanna watch a movie or something?” He was leaned back in his chair rubbing his pasta belly through that grungy tee while he asked. “I don’t think you should drive like this. And I know I can’t.”  
I nodded. “Movie sounds good. Whatcha got?”  
“I have got a shit ton of movies,” he slurred. “Let’s go look.” He took me down to his screening room and opened the closet – I should say “wall,” but it did have a door on it, so technically it was a closet – of films. Some were labeled, some weren’t. Some were big-name, classics, high-budget things. A lot of horror. Gory stuff, I mean. And then there was a basket in the corner that was full of what looked like bootleg copies.  
“What’re those?” I asked.  
“Oh, you know, once in a while, we get these homemade templates people send in to us to get funding for their project. It’s all crap in there.”  
“I wanna see!” I told him. “Can I put one in?”  
“Yeah!” He smiled far too excitedly. “I like to watch these for a laugh.”  
I pulled out the basket and picked one at random called, “Lady Mischievous 3.” I tossed it to him and he put it in. “Was there a ‘Lady Mischievous 1’ and ‘2’?”  
He shrugged and we sat on the reclining theater chairs as it started. “Not that I ever heard of.”  
Lady Mischievous had started out as any old cheerleader girl-next-door until she became exposed to a radioactive chemical the school nerd, who was being played by a guy easy pushing 40, had concocted in the school’s lab after hours. It turned her into a sex goddess who eats men with her vagina and can only control her urges by having sex with women.  
Five stars. 10/10 would recommend.  
Every female was naked, every male was old, and there was no plot, no solution, no proper ending. I think Jeremy and I were close to tears by the time it was over an hour later.  
“How many more of those do you have?” I asked, looking back at the box.  
“Lots,” he explained. “Another?”  
I said yes, and he went to choose the next title. And I was drunk at that point, sitting there with my fly open because I had just eaten a very delicious but very fattening meal, and he was there in his sweatpants digging through a box of DVDs of terrible homemade movies, and we had yet to discuss anything about our relationship.  
“Are we gonna talk about it?” I asked him.  
He stopped digging through the box and looked at me. “Yeah, if you want.”  
“Wasn’t it kind of the whole point in my coming here?”  
“Yeah, I guess so.” He stood and sat beside me again, and I looked at him sadly, waiting for him to speak.  
“I know I’ve already said I’m sorry,” he told me. “But I want to say it again. I never broke a single promise on purpose. And I really did try to keep every single one.”  
“I know,” I told him. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t very good at understanding your schedule and all that. I wasn’t good at understanding very much in general, I guess.”  
“Nah, you were fine. We were just… I don’t know. Like I said, we were too hard-headed to change.”  
I took another sip, consequently finishing off my glass. “I think I have a drinking problem,” I said.  
“I had as much to drink as you did,” he said. “You think you drink more than you do because you’re a lightweight.”  
“I drink every single day,” I said. “And several times a day. Sometimes I start as early as noon and don’t stop until I pass out. I think I’m an alcoholic.”  
He took the glass from me and placed it on the table. “Is there anything I can do for you?”  
I shook my head. “No, but I think I need help before it ruins me.”  
He patted my back, but he was so drunk himself that he was starting to doze off.   
“I should go,” I said. “You’re falling asleep.”  
“No, you can’t go like that. I’m not gonna let you drive.”  
“Well I shouldn’t stay here.”  
“I have a spare bedroom. Hell, I’ve got, like, three spare bedrooms. Pick one.”  
It was so sweet of him to offer, and he was absolutely right – I was in no condition to drive. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”  
His eyes batted groggily as he looked at me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.  
“Not sex,” I said. “I just… I miss sleeping with you. I mean actually sleeping. Just… come on. Hold me a little.”  
“I don’t think Chris would like that.”  
He was right. And he was a good man. “Then just give me the nicest room you have, Pierre.”  
Pierre.  
It was an inside joke we had that every time I stayed in Chateau de Renner, he was my bellhop, Pierre, would show me to my room, and then proceed to make love to me. It was pathetic and dumb but it was ours.  
He held up a finger to me. “No Pierre tonight,” he laughed. “Come on, I’ll take you to your room, though.”  
He led me upstairs to the room down the hall from his, and I grabbed the remainder of the bottle on my way there. He gave me one of those looks, but I gave him one back. “One last hurrah before I cut back,” I told him.  
He said goodnight and I sat in bed, and as I always seemed to do lately, I drank until I didn’t remember anything but waking up the next morning.  
And he was beside me.  
We were in his bed.  
“Oh my god,” I shouted, bolting upright as soon as I realized. “Jeremy… I… wake up. Oh, shit…”  
It took him a moment, but he woke up. “When did you come in here?”  
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember coming in here.”  
He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “We’re both dressed, so I don’t think we did anything. Yeah, no we definitely didn’t do anything. We didn’t, did we?”  
“I don’t… think so,” I answered.  
He jumped out of bed and threw on a hoodie and looked back at me before he walked out. “I’ve gotta let the dogs out. You gonna be okay getting home?”  
So I guess we weren’t going to talk about it.  
“Yeah I’m fine. Headache, but that’s normal, right?”  
He nodded. “Take an aspirin before you go.”  
When he left the room, that sudden, abrupt manner of his made me feel like I was two inches tall and pure scum of the earth. My gut told me I hadn’t had sex with him, that I just walked into his room in the middle of the night and laid down beside him. But it wasn’t impossible to think something happened with us.  
Truth is, he was right, and so was I. We were no good for each other, and even if I didn’t like Chris and even if I thought he got with her too fast and even if I was so sure about everything about us, I didn’t belong in his bed, no matter what it was that got me there.  
And I still had a drinking problem. I remembered coming to that revelation the night before. Maybe this sort of confusion was what I needed to get me to get help for it.  
I dressed and left before Jeremy came in from his walk with the dogs. Yeah, I might have slept with him, but I don’t think I did.  
To this day, I still don’t know.  
Maybe I hadn’t gotten the closure I was looking for, but I had at least maintained a friendship I was very much afraid of losing. I’m not sure about much in my life, but I am sure that going to his home that night was the right thing to do. No matter whose bed I ended up in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exchanges of texts between Lana and Jeremy.

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 12:04 PM_   
_Are we going to talk about last night?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received 12:32 PM_   
_Why would we? Nothing to discuss._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 12:35 PM_   
_I just don’t want you to think that something happened when it didn’t._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 12:41 PM_   
_I know. I don’t._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 12:45 PM_   
_Then why were you so cold to me this morning at work? I tried to talk to you 3 different times and every time you avoided me like the plague._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 12:49 PM_   
_I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to. Come have lunch with me and I’ll make up for it._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 12:55 PM_   
_Can’t. New scene reset, need to improvise. Mini crisis mode._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 12:58 PM_   
_Then why the fuck are you texting me?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 1:03 PM_   
_Because you’re my panic room and everything was getting a little overwhelming and because talking to you calms me down, even if I wanna talk about you being mad at me._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 1:10 PM_   
_That makes no sense, but I won’t make a rude comment about it if you admit you made mistakes too. In our relationship I mean._

 

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 1:14 PM_   
_Of course I made mistakes. But it’s more fun for me to talk about yours._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received 1:43 PM_   
_What are you doing tonight?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 1:47 PM_   
_As little as possible. Why?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 1:50 PM_   
_I just found a gyro place._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received 2:13 PM_   
_It might taste like shit, but it’s a gyro place._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 2:45 PM_   
_Lana._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 2:59 PM_   
_Lana._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3: 12 PM_   
_Are you dead? Was it what I said about gyros?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3:22 PM_   
_I’m naked._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:25 PM_   
_HFS you’re annoying!_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3:30 PM_   
_I knew you’d answer if I said I was naked._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:35 PM_   
_I was in a meeting, asshole. Jamison found me another job._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3:37 PM_   
_Jamison?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:38 PM_   
_Agent._

_From: Jeremy._   
_Received: 3:41 PM_   
_Ah. So… I found a gyro place._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:46 PM_   
_I’ll be here all night. You can bring me a sandwich if you feel like being neighborly._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3:48 PM_   
_Want company?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:51 PM_   
_Mr. Rhodes will be here. I’ll have company._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 3:52 PM_   
_That’s Jamison, before you ask._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 3:55 PM_   
_Well if you already have dinner plans, I won’t bother. Maybe another time._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 4:19 PM_   
_See you tomorrow._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:10 PM_   
_How was it?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:13 PM_   
_How was what?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:17 PM_   
_You’re date with Jamison?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:20 PM_   
_It went fine, and it wasn’t a date._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:25 PM_   
_You guys just talked business, then? Nothing personal?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:32 PM_   
_Are you serious? You’re asking about how my evening with another man went? What the fuck is wrong with you and why the fuck are you asking?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:38 PM_   
_Hey! I was just asking how your evening went because I care about you. I was hoping you had fun either way, business or no business._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:59 PM_   
_I didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t trying to pry. I’m sorry._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:09 PM_   
_I’m not mad at you. I’m just tired._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:15 PM_   
_Look maybe this isn’t the time to talk about it and I swear I’ll let you go so you can sleep, but I want you to be happy, okay? That’s the only reason I’m talking to you about it._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:19 PM_   
_And if you’re dating that guy, just for the record, I think that’s great. He seems like a good guy and it’s not going to make things weird between you and me._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:22 PM_   
_My point is that I’m just really scared I’m making you uncomfortable and you don’t deserve that._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:38 PM_   
_I’m gonna sleep now. Good night._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:42 PM_   
_Night._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:05 AM_   
_I’m going to be in a little late this morning. Gave Martha instructions, so you’ll be fine without me._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received 7:09 AM_   
_Um… thanks. Good to know. But I’m not going in today at all. Also I’m not sure why you’re telling me._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:12 AM_   
_Ugh. That was meant for Louis._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 7:15 AM_   
_How’d you sleep?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:22 AM_   
_Like a baby. I woke up every 2 hrs and cried._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 7:28 AM_   
_Aw I’m sorry. Why?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:31 AM_   
_(1/2)It’s getting stressful. I think you know about the whole thing with Dior, right? And there I was cleaning up after the mess Louis made and I got zero appreciation for all the extra time and effort I put in. Then he expected me to be in at 8 this morning but_   
_(2/2)there’s no way in hell that’s gonna happen. That’s why I texted him. Well, texted you. Meant to text him. I’ll text him now._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 7:45 AM_   
_You sound like you could use a gyro._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:47 AM_   
_Do you think that’s all I eat or something?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 7:50 AM_   
_We were together for the better part of a year. I KNOW that’s all you eat._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 7:52 AM_   
_Fuck off._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 7:55 AM_   
_Seriously, though. Let’s get breakfast._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 8:00 AM_   
_Why?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 8:02 AM_   
_Because I’m hungry and I miss you._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 8:05 AM_   
_You miss me?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 8:13 AM_   
_Yeah. You’re the only one keeping me sane on set._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 8:19 AM_   
_Ironic considering you’re the one who most drives me to the brink of insanity._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 8:22 AM_   
_So… that’s a yes to breakfast?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 8:30 AM_   
_No…_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 9:13 AM_   
_Sorry, just got out of the shower. So that’s a no to breakfast huh? How about lunch?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 9:29 AM_   
_Ha! I was in the shower that time! And yeah, I guess lunch is cool. I can have Mary bring something over so you can meet me at my place. I’m not going out anywhere._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 9:33 AM_   
_I’ll take care of it. Meet you at 11?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 9:40 AM_   
_Sounds good._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 9:59 AM_   
_I’m bored. Talk to me._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:02_   
_Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t get the memo about my being your court jester._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:05 AM_   
_Just thought you wouldn’t mind talking to me._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:06 AM_   
_Isn’t that what your girlfriend is for?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:11 AM_   
_She’s out of the country._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:15 AM_   
_Wait… this isn’t one of those cat’s-away-mouse-plays things is it?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:22 AM_   
_I’m allowed to have friends._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:24 AM_   
_Ones you’ve slept with and have meals with alone and that you text when you’re bored?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:27 AM_   
_If you don’t believe me, we don’t have to talk to each other. But I think we’d both hate that. I know I would._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:30 AM_   
_I don’t mind. I just don’t want her to hate me any more than she already does._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:31 AM_   
_She doesn’t hate you._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:33 AM_   
_Like you would know._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:35 AM_   
_We talked about you. She wanted to know everything about us._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:36 AM_   
_Us?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:39 AM_   
_You, mostly. But us a little, yeah. Like when we dated and for how long and how we met and all that._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:40 AM_   
_I hope you were nice._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:42 AM_   
_Of course. There’s nothing bad to be said about you._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:44 AM_   
_Those weren’t your sentiments a few months ago._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:46 AM_   
_Yeah but somehow when I’m thinking back on it I can’t think about that other stuff. Only about what a grand asshole I was._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:50 AM_   
_You weren’t all bad._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:52 AM_   
_See? Everything looks better in retrospect, right?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 10:55 AM_   
_Shut up and bring me my food._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 10:57 AM_   
_I have 3 more minutes._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:01 AM_   
_Where are you?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:07 AM_   
_Here._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:08 AM_   
_HERE here? I don’t see you._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:10 AM_   
_Here at the restaurant. Turns out this place is popular. Who knew?_

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:15 AM_   
_How much longer?_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:17 AM_   
_Just left. Oh my god this smells good._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:20 AM_   
_STFU_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:22 AM_   
_Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe_

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:25 AM_   
_Onions. Tomato. Feta cheese._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:27 AM_   
_Stop._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:30 AM_   
_Pita bread. Tzatziki Sauce. Lamb fresh off the rack._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Sent: 11:31 AM_   
_I hate you._

_From: Jeremy_   
_Received: 11:33 AM_   
_I’m here. HERE here._

_To: Jeremy_   
_Message saved to drafts_   
_I miss you too, by the way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's hardly an original style, but I thought it would be fun to try it out. It was. Hope it was as much fun to read.


	5. Chapter 5

We were in love, okay? We were hopelessly, unmistakably, pathetically, perilously, hysterically, carelessly in love. I knew we were. He knew we were. We had something that no one else had but us. Something that no one after us would ever have. We called each other names. We slapped each other around (playfully, of course. Unless we’re talking about sex). We laughed together. We knew each other’s secrets.  
But just before it was all over, we did something kind of crazy. Or, we almost did. We were considering very seriously applying to be foster parents. Of course, we had realized some time before that it helps your chances to be married, or at the very least, to be living together, which we weren’t. But the point is we talked about it. We talked about it a lot. He knew how badly I wanted kids. Kids with him. Kids who otherwise didn’t have anyone else. I just wanted to be a mom more than anything, and since I was 13, I always had that information in the back of my head that, hey, that’s not gonna happen. Not the old-fashioned way, anyway.  
My pediatrician had always referred to it as “Mickey Mouse Syndrome,” meaning my uterus was shaped like the infamous rodent’s head, and therefore I could not carry a child to term. Combining that with my persistent ovarian cysts and a whole lot of other complicated maladies that have plagued my reproductive system since the dawn of time, the odds of my getting pregnant were something like 1 in 173 million, or something like that.  
Having a baby, or a child, with Jeremy had always been endgame for me. And when we broke up, I saw that dream I had of becoming a mother completely shattered right before my eyes.   
You know how grief is? And when I say grief, I guess I mean any kind of persistent sadness. It’s there for a while after the initial blow, and then you work on recovering. You know that the pain will never fully leave, but you learn not to think about it. You learn to associate it with happy things so that the triggers don’t apply and so that someone’s name or a certain color or a particular song doesn’t automatically transfer you, body and soul, into that horrifically deep and dark place you just finished clawing your way out from. But then something else happens. Something you never really thought could ever be reminiscent of a sad moment or a horrible memory or a shattered dream, and it begins again. And you beat yourself up thinking, “Why wasn’t I prepared? I should have been prepared!”  
But the truth is, you couldn’t have helped it. Sometimes you get sad. And that’s okay.  
He stepped into my living room with two separate meal choices: gyros from a place called Johnny L’s, and pizza from a place that promised authentic Chicago deep-dish style.  
And it was that damned pizza that did me in.   
Pizza.  
Fucking pizza.  
“I didn’t know if the gyros would be crap, so I brought a back-up. I’ve actually had their pie. It’s good. Just like Giordano’s.”  
“Nothing is like Giordano’s,” I told him, referring to the very best pizza this world has ever known. “But I appreciate the effort.”  
Smells are perhaps the most reliable memory trigger, and the sneakiest. You can’t see them coming. That’s the thing.  
It wasn’t Jeremy’s fault. He had been a perfect gentleman, setting out plates on my coffee table and pouring me a tall glass of Sprite and even slicing the lemon in it the way I liked. But I couldn’t touch my food. I just kind of stared at it, picking at it with my fork. I had been starving just a moment before. Now I was repulsed.  
“Something wrong?”  
I looked up at him, knowing he’d been talking for about five minutes now, and I hadn’t actually listened to a word he’d said. We’d been eating pizza that night we decided we wanted to have kids together. We’d been out at Giordano’s. And I think it was the oregano they used that I smelled now that brought back that rainy evening on Michigan Avenue. I started to get teary-eyed. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. Certainly not.  
“I’m fine,” I answered quietly. “Just… let’s eat.”  
He kept an eye on me, and not subtly, I might add. He went on about how he was planning to take a little vacation to Rio as soon as filming wrapped and before he started production on the next Bourne film. He then told me how he started watching TV for the first time since he was a teenager, and how it’s even more annoying now than it was then. I think I smirked a little at his movie star pretentiousness. And then he started talking about the dogs. He called them his kids. That’s when I sort of snapped back into reality.  
“Is it crap?” he asked after I finally took a bite from the sandwich.  
“Nah, it’s pretty good, actually,” I told him. And it was. No Athens Elite, but it came pretty close. Impressive for this side of the country, to be sure.  
“So what is it with you and Jamison, anyway? I mean, I know you’re not dating, but…” he paused a bit dramatically then until I looked at him. “Are you guys fooling around or anything?”  
“No,” I told him. I wanted to be a bit more firm, but I wasn’t. “He’s my agent.”  
“Yeah? So?”  
“Are we in eighth grade? What’s going on here with the questions?”  
“No, nothing. I just see something between you two. Just wondering if I’m just crazy or if there really is something going on.”  
I considered telling him that I was, in fact, attracted to Jamison. But come on – who wouldn’t be? The man is smart and dashing and handsome and has the ideal amount of facial hair and an incredible sense of style and is literally the exact shade of milk chocolate which only made me wonder even more what he must taste like. But did I want to be with him?  
Well…  
“He’s recently divorced,” I told him. “And the thing with his ex… it’s complicated. She’s not well. And… I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with her.”  
“Have you got any other prospects?”  
I probably hit my fork against the table a bit too hard before I crossed my arms and looked up at him. He knew this look. And I know he did, because as soon as I looked at him that way, he apologized.  
“I mean,” he mumbled as he gnawed his way through his sandwich. “I’m sure you don’t just have one thing on your mind, and it’s not like you’re desperate or anything.” Yeah. No shit. “But I just thought, you know, you’re young and attractive and you’re out here living it up. You should have some fun.”  
“I have plenty of fun without getting laid.”  
“Yeah? Like what? Staying up 20 hours straight putting together outfits from companies who want to abandon this project and guys who aren’t even technically your boss controlling how you style the cast and lighting guys getting all in your ass because of a particular shade of red?”  
He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t let him win. “I hang out with Scarlett,” I told him firmly.  
“What, three times since you’ve been here? And twice was at the cafeteria on lot. You barely get to talk to her. She’s busier than you.”  
“My point is that I’m very happy just to do my job, Jeremy, and I don’t need to get laid to feel validated. I’m sorry if that ruins your expectations of me.”  
He shook his head and did that quirky thing his lips do when he’s embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Lana. I just… I want to see you happy.”  
“You didn’t break me, Jeremy.”  
“I never said I did. I just said I want to see you happy. Happy in spite of me, happy in spite of Jamison, happy in spite of Louis. In spite of anyone who works their damnedest, whether purposely or not, to make your life a living hell.”  
“No one has it in for me,” I smiled just a little. “You make it all sound like a fucking soap opera.”  
“You know what I mean, though. I want to see you happy.”  
“You mean like the way you’re happy with Chris?”  
He just stared at me for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”  
“You are… happy with her. Aren’t you?”  
He smiled. “Yes. I love her.”  
“Good,” I nodded. “Then it sounds like you’re busy enough with that not to have to worry about me.”  
“I wouldn’t say I’m worried about you. I’m just concerned you’re getting too wrapped up in this job to enjoy yourself.”  
“I’ll enjoy myself when the film wraps.”  
He smirked at me and then looked back down at the table. “I need to quit eating crap like this and get my ass in shape.”  
“You look fine,” I told him. “Stop being so Hollywood.”  
“You do know that this is what I do for a living, right? I have to keep my body in shape for the job.”  
“You know what would be a better job?” I asked. “Eating food for a living. There should be a job where all you do is eat food for a living. Like, that’s it. Eat. Get paid. Eat more. Get paid more.”  
“You mean like a food critic?”  
“Oh… yeah, I guess that works.”  
He smiled over at me, and I smiled back. I was doing pretty well at keeping my conversational topics to the usual, and my sense of humor seemed believable enough. But when he actually caught the look in my eye, he saw what I was trying my damnedest not to show him.  
“What’s wrong?”  
He could always tell.  
“Nothing,” I lied. “I just… I guess I’m just thinking too much.”  
“Dangerous stuff,” he said. “But come on. That’s not all it is.”  
“Yeah,” I said, sitting back into the sofa, the epitome of sadness. I knew I looked this way, and I knew he could tell. But I couldn’t tell him I was thinking about when we were planning on having kids. If I did, he might think I still had a thing for him. And, you know, I totally didn’t.   
“Yeah?” He echoed. “Yeah, I’m right? Or yeah, that’s all it is?”  
“I don’t know,” I said. Don’t you dare fucking make me tell you.  
“You’re being weird, Lana,” he said. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were huge and his hands were folded together to keep from reaching to mine like he used to do when I was having a bad day.  
“Do you… do you remember the last time we had pizza together?”  
He thought for a second. “Long time ago.”  
“Yeah, but… do you remember…” I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t. Why was I? “Do you remember what we talked about?”  
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”  
Of course he didn’t. He might not even have been paying attention to it when we were having the conversation in the first place.  
“Then it doesn’t matter. Just, you know, memories. Sometimes I hate those fuckers.”  
“Oh,” he said after a moment’s silence. “Right. We were having dinner with your gramma last time, weren’t we? That’s why you’re sad? It’s triggering memories of her?” I didn’t have a chance to answer before he finally did lay one of his hands over mine and shifted his lower lip a bit in sympathy. “I’m sorry. But hey, at least they’re good memories, right?”  
It was true that one of the last times Jeremy had been in Chicago and we’d had pizza at Giordano’s, Gramma was there. But that wasn’t the time I was talking about.  
“Exactly,” I answered. “But you’re right. They’re good memories.”  
He smiled and winked and gripped both of my hands tightly in one of his. “You’re so strong, Lana Banana,” he told me, using my gramma’s nickname for me. “You’re only going to come out of all of this stronger.”  
I wanted to give some sort of thought-provoking, well-mannered response, but all I could do was blow a raspberry and tell him to stop reading self-help books.  
…  
I did eventually go into work and make a few alterations upon Louis’ request. He told me simply to “convey the immense lack of remorse in her heart that exists as she hunts her prey.” How do you convey the existence of a lack of something? Seriously.  
I was all alone in the building listening to Metallica (damn you, Renner). How do I convey a lack of remorse on a dress?  
Scarlett’s dress was already black with a red underlay which was barely visible beneath the jacket and eyelet skirt. It sat on the mannequin just sort of staring at me. And I was staring right back.  
“You little bitch,” I whispered. “I hate you so much.”  
“That’s no way to talk to a dress.”  
When I heard that deep, familiar rasp, I turned and smiled, even if I was a bit startled. “I thought I was alone!” I laughed. “But I’m glad you’re here!”  
Scarlett smiled back, and even though she wore no makeup and had her hair swept to the side of her face, and even though she was in yoga pants and a tank top, and even though she had circles under her eyes indicating that she, like all of us involved in this production, wasn’t getting much sleep, I swear she was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. “I was working out,” she shrugged. “Whatcha up to, kiddo?”  
I explained what I was doing, and she admired the dress. “Yeah, I don’t have a clue what he means. But hey, I love it.”  
“I love it, too,” I said. “But it’s not good enough, apparently. I don’t know… Louis keeps pushing and pushing me, keeps telling me what to do and how to do it. But I’m the costume designer, right? I mean, I should be the one with final say!”  
“Technically,” she told me, “You do have final say. You just have to deal with his disapproval if you don’t live up to what he wants.”  
“I’d rather drive myself up a wall than him,” I sighed. “At least I know how to deal with myself.”  
She sat on my desk while I sat in my chair and we stared at the mannequin for a good five minutes of silence. I yawned a few times. She checked her phone. Something was off.  
“So what brings you here?” I asked. “I mean, to my office.”  
“Like I said, I was in the gym anyway. Thought I’d say hi.”  
“Well thanks,” I smiled. “That means a lot.”  
She was silent again for a bit, but I knew that face. She had something to say.  
“How are you getting along with Jamison?”  
There it was.  
“Fine. He’s awesome. Great guy.”  
“Yeah he is,” she nodded. “Good guy, smart, funny. Not too hard on the eyes.”  
“Yeah, he’s a cutie.”  
“Has he, uh… I mean, have you… are you interested? I can put in a good word.”  
I laughed a little. I couldn’t help it. “Did you want me to hook up with him?”  
“No!” And she may be an incredible actress, but I could tell she was lying.  
“He hasn’t voiced any desire for that kind of thing,” I informed her. “And so I’m not going to think about it. End of story.”  
She nodded. “But if he did…”  
“If he did, I’d consider it,” I answered. “But it’s not really a question right now.”  
“And what about Jeremy? I see you two getting along most of the time, but yesterday seemed a bit rough.”  
“We talked it out. I went over to his house for dinner. It was nice.” Except for the realizing I’m a drunk, getting drunk anyway, and sleeping in his bed parts.  
“Well good. I’m glad you guys are okay. I love you guys. I need you to get along.”  
“Yeah. We’re working together. It would be a good idea.”  
She pursed her lips and looked over at me. “Hey, what has he said about Christina? Are they serious?”  
“He hasn’t told you?” I asked. I found it hard to believe.  
“He doesn’t talk to me about his girlfriends anymore,” she said. “Not since you.”  
“Wait… girlfriends? As in plural?”  
“Well yeah, before Christina there was that brunette he met at a charity thing, and before that there was a Canadian chick he met when he was filming in Toronto.”  
“Oh. I thought… I thought Chris was it.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about this information. Was it good? Bad? Neither? Both? “Anyway, he’s definitely more serious about Christina. I guess they’re talking about getting married and selling his house.”  
“No way! He’s selling the house? I love that house!”  
“I know!” I yelled with her. “Me too!”  
She shook her head and smirked that way she does. “He’s that serious, huh?” She pondered. “And you’re okay with that?”  
“Yeah,” I shrugged. “I have to be, don’t I?”  
“No. Nothing wrong with caring. Even if you’re not jealous, I can see where it’d make you feel like shit that he moved on so fast.”  
Way to rub it in.  
“I’m just glad he’s happy. And he says he is, so… yeah.”  
She rubbed my back a little after she walked around the desk to be closer to me. “You’re the best ex ever. I wish my exes were as sweet as you.”  
“Well date me and then break up with me and I will be your sweet ex.”  
She laughed a bit and checked her watch. “Hey, I should go. It’s late. You coming in tomorrow?”  
“I might not even leave tonight,” I told her.  
She looked at the dress, then at me. “You know, you should do something fun. Make yourself happy. Get out and do whatever that one thing is that you’ve always wanted to do. You only live once, isn’t that what the young kids are saying these days?”  
I smiled. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”  
“See you tomorrow, kid,” she waved. Then she stopped in the doorway just before she left. “So pretty,” she sighed, looking at the mannequin. “Do you think female serial killers of the fifties were that fashionable?”  
“Probably not. That’s probably why they were so angry and killed so many people.”  
“You think into this way too much,” she chuckled. “Okay, for real now. Bye.”  
“Bye.”  
After she left I turned back to the dress.   
She was right.  
It was a pretty dress. It was fucking gorgeous. Would she be wearing this kind of dress to lure her boyfriends to their deaths?  
No. She would wear something sexy, yet versatile. Something chic, yet inexpensive. She wasn’t rich. She couldn’t afford to get bloody dresses cleaned.  
She’d wear something simpler. Not eyelet.   
In my mind, I praised Scarlett’s inadvertent help as I sketched a new costume. She was always right. About everything.  
Even about my doing that one thing I always wanted to do.  
I was going to do it now.


	6. Chapter 6

“An entirely new wardrobe?”  
“An entirely new wardrobe.”  
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. Clearly he didn’t think this was a good idea. “Louis is gonna kill you. You know that right?”  
I nodded and smiled, “This is so much better than what I’ve been doing that I don’t even care. And honestly?” I asked, twirling around one mannequin, “I don’t think he will either.”  
He lifted a hand to the shoulder of one of the dresses and trailed it down the sleeve, far too reminiscent of the way he liked touching me back in the day. “These are good,” he said. “In fact they’re _very_ good. But what if you’re wrong? What if they’re still not good enough for him?”  
“Gee, thanks a lot.”  
“No, you know what I mean. You know how he is. What if he decides that after all your hard work, you still can’t live up to his impossible standards?”  
“Then fuck him.”  
“But we’ve already shot, like, half the movie.”  
“Yes,” I agreed, raising a finger to halt him from speaking further. “But 90% of what we’ve done has been future Scarlett and nurse Scarlett, and none of those scenes were especially pivotal. These outfits are vintage – like, authentically vintage--” I explained, fervently rushing through my words because I had too much to explain and too little time in which to explain. “I’m just asking you to believe in me, okay? Can I just be totally cliché and ask you to believe in me? And maybe… maybe I’m trying to take advantage of our past and ask you to put in a good word for me?”  
He smiled at me and nodded. “I can’t _not_ believe in you, Lana,” he told me. “I’m kind of fundamentally predisposed to believing in you. I wish I couldn’t, but I have to.” He hugged me slowly (totally wasn’t expecting that), and kissed my temple. “I’ll put in a good word for you, too. Only… well I’m not exactly Louis’ favorite person, either.”  
“I don’t think Louis has a favorite person,” I assured him. “Maybe… Hitler?”  
“That’s mean.”  
“It’s true.”  
“I… don’t think I should comment on that.”  
Scarlett, who suddenly appeared in my office doorway just then, seemed equal parts confused and impressed.  
“These are frickin’ gorgeous!” She stroked her hand over one, not dissimilar to the way Jeremy had. “How the actual fuck did you do this so quickly?”  
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “But I may or may not have sold my soul to the devil.”  
“Oh wow, and… god, what’s Louis going to say?”  
“That seems to be the question of the hour. I’m thinking maybe I’ll just slip them in without telling him.”  
“He’ll kill you.”  
“Not if he actually likes them.”  
“If he actually likes them, you’ll only know because he won’t speak with you.”  
“I’d rather he didn’t speak with me than that he spoke and everything was crap.”  
“No matter what he says, it’s going to be crap anyway.”  
“Yeah, but you know what I mean… mean crap. Crap about how I should never have been hired in the first place because I’m a worthless piece of shit and everything I do--”  
“Shut up,” she interrupted, and of course I was glad she did that time. “You’re not shit, you’re not worthless, and when you say that you are, it pisses me the fuck off. Now pull up your big girl pantaloons and go in there and do what you’ve got to do to kick this chauvinistic motherfucker’s ass!”  
“Damn straight!”  
“Damn straight!” She echoed. “Now gimme some skin!”  
“I – what? Give you some skin? Is that… is that a sex thing?”  
She laughed and pushed her fingertips playfully against the side of my head. “I love you, Lana. And I trust you, which should mean even more.”  
…  
It was three more days before my designs were used, and when they were, they were kick-ass. Scarlett’s hourglass figure was perfectly showcased in a Marchesa-inspired black cocktail dress as she stood aboard a replica of the Queen Mary with an emerald green lace shawl around her shoulders. Everything about her was perfect, from the pillbox hat on the crown of her head to the pearl necklace at her neck to the belt I had found by chance at an antique store to the heels I’d scored on line from a vintage collector. She was stunning – and finally, she was believable as your average, everyday 1940s American nurse who killed men she picked up at bars in her downtime.  
I was sure that by now, a month into production, I knew how to converse with Louis. I was sure I could read his body language and tell what he was thinking just from a certain raising of an eyebrow here or scratch of the neck there. Now, I wasn’t so sure. He circled Scarlett a couple times before he looked me in the eye. “We didn’t discuss this,” he told me curtly.  
“I know,” I nodded. “But you have to agree this is better.”  
“I don’t have to do any such thing,” he snapped in response, folding his arms dramatically across his chest as if he were a four-year-old refusing to clean up his toys.  
“You know what I mean,” I explained. “Marilyn [and that was the name of Scarlett’s character] is a nurse. She’s not rich. She wouldn’t have been so… blingy. She would have been simple enough to wear within her means, but pretty enough to pick up guys easily. She wears this necklace, for example. It’s simple and old, so I imagine it’s an heirloom. Maybe it’s the only thing she got from her mom. And these shoes – she bought these after she’d saved for them. The hat, well,” I chuckled, fancying myself pretty clever at this point, “She would have worked extra shifts for that. It’s the nicest thing she’s wearing.”  
He looked me up and down skeptically three or four times in a row, dramatically, of course, because anything else just wouldn’t be his fashion. With the click of his tongue and a bonus sigh, he nodded. “It’s not horrible,” he admitted. And for him that was just as good as if he’d told me he loved it.  
Throughout the little movie, I had seven separate decades to design for. On the surface, this would be a simple production. It was a crew of rookies, a low-budget film, and everyone assumed the only draw to the theaters upon release would be Scarlett. I know that would have been enough for me.  
But now that it was all coming together, I had to think there would be something else that I would enjoy. Like the costuming. As a costume buff, I remember looking forward to those low-budget movies at the Kennedy Theater in Hammond, Indiana – paying the three dollars for my ticket after saving my allowance for six weeks just to see the pretty dresses and the sharp suits. My favorite movie as a child was _The King and I_ ; not because of the plot or the music, but because of those costumes.  
The outfits worn in _The Clock on the Wall_ weren’t anything near as elaborate as the ones in the films of my youth, but they were still spectacular. I used to get so pissed off when I would see a movie filmed in the 80s but set in the 30s, picking out every discrepancy or error, noting that the women never wore their hair that way, that men would never tie their ties that way, and that I knew that for a fact because  
Cary Grant never looked like that.  
But I was picky.  
I could hardly believe it when production winded down and it was suddenly made aware to me that there were only two more days of filming before the movie launched into post-production mode. I had stopped showing up to watch the scenes filming because I didn’t want to be around Louis, whose mediocre production design was surpassed only by his own self-righteousness. I wasn’t really talking to Jeremy – he was filming his own side project in Athens. Yeah, as in Greece. It was only a small part in a miniseries, but he had still gone a long way. And without him to talk to, I didn’t really see the point of showing up any more than I had to.  
…  
“My office. Twenty minutes.”  
“Mr. Rhodes, you know you can’t talk to me like that. You need to explain things to me.”  
“No I don’t,” he answered quickly, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Twenty minutes.”  
“I’m sort of thick. You need to spell things out for me.”  
“What is so nebulous about my office, twenty minutes?”  
I hung up on him. We were in that place where we could get away with doing that to each other and not be upset about that.  
When I showed up – and I made sure I wasn’t there a minute before twenty – I worked my way through the maze of offices until I reached him, squeezing my ever-growing thighs between the chair and the desk until I found enough room to sit.  
“Seriously, dude,” I told him immediately. “You need a new office.”  
“Well actually, that looks like it could be happening very soon.”  
I smiled, genuinely happy for him. He deserved that. “Really?”  
“Well, that’s actually the thing I wanted to talk to you about. I have a job offer for you.”  
I blinked a few times in succession, probably looking a bit confused because I certainly felt it. “Really? Because I told you I was going home after this. I decided that.” And I had. Almost a month ago, I realized I was only putting myself through more of the same Hollywood bullshit that had come between me and the one man I ever thought I would be able to have a relationship with. I realized I missed Chicago. I realized that the only thing keeping me here now was money. And with a movie under my belt now, I knew work would be simple enough to find. And hey, soon I’d have that condo on Lake Shore Drive that I had wanted all my life. Probably.  
“There’s a TV show starting production July of next year,” he told me. “It’s cable – already confirmed for thirteen episodes. And the cherry on top,” he smiled, pushing a binder of information in front of me, “Is that it’s set in the Roaring Twenties.”  
“Like _Downton Abbey_? That sort of thing?”  
“No,” he answered. “More like _Sopranos_ meets _Boardwalk Empire_ meets _Dexter_.”  
“I… how?”  
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he told me, shaking his head. “But just read this all. Big cast, big names, excellent, excellent stuff.”  
I opened the binder and looked over the first page – the cast list. “Wow,” I mumbled. “That’s… this is a big deal.”  
“Yeah,” he answered smiling. “And they want you to head costuming.”  
“Okay, okay,” I muttered half-heartedly. “I can put together a portfolio as soon as this film wraps, maybe bring that along for the interview unless I’m just sending it in.”  
“No,” he said, shaking his head firmly, his smile only growing wider. “They want you. They specifically requested you after seeing your work on The Clock on the Wall. Word’s getting around about you, Miss Fillmore. You’re going to be in high demand very soon. And once this movie is making its rounds in viewings and screenings… forget it. No one will be able to touch you without a damn long wait and a shit ton of money.”  
“So let me get this straight,” I started incredulously. “I am in high demand? Me?”  
“You will be,” he corrected. “You’re fantastic at what you do, and your work… how do I put this?” He stopped to think silently for an awkward few seconds. “I don’t watch baseball. I think it’s boring and slow and there isn’t anything particularly fascinating or challenging about it. But I’m impressed to no end when I think about Ted Williams. Man was the last player in MLB to hit .400. And in 60 years, steroids and evolution and all the things that are supposed to make people better at stuff like that – no one has done it since him. I’m impressed with him. God, I would have given anything to have seen him play. That’s what it’s like with you. There are people who don’t give two flips about costume design who are raving about your work. About the authenticity and attention to detail. About subtext, Lana. About how you implement the subtext of the film’s message in the threads of the characters’ clothing. That’s how good you are. You’re the Ted Williams of costume design.”  
“You don’t like baseball?” I asked.  
His eyes grew wide and his smile dropped. “Seriously? That’s what you gleaned from the words I just said?”  
Okay, yeah. I had heard everything he’d said and yeah, it was awesome. But who the hell doesn’t like baseball?  
“All you have to do is sign,” he told me. “There are a couple of contracts and some privacy agreements, the usual. You can give it some time and get back to me. I have a feeling they won’t mind waiting for you to make up your mind.”  
“Moving here permanently,” I told him slowly, caressing the cover of the binder as if it could comfort me, or as if from inside, a genie might appear to grant me the wish of living in Chicago and also making good money in a career I was in love with. “That’s a big deal. Yeah. I need to think about it.”  
“Well,” he chuckled. “I hope you take it. I mean, if you don’t mind my being a little selfish, I really hope you do.”  
I nodded. “It would be good for you, wouldn’t it?”  
“No, I’ll be fine. Picked up two more clients last week, so I’ll be fine no matter what you do.”  
I nodded. I did that a lot. “Filming wraps on Friday,” I said. “You’ll have your answer by Monday morning.”  
…  
It was a huge decision. I knew that the moment I heard the offer, and as he explained how huge my career could possibly become, the gravity really sunk in. I could actually have that dream job. God, I could be that person who never works a day in her life because I do what I love. I took the car back to my house and thought about how I would even begin to decide. To anyone else, it would be The Dream to move out to LA and leave Chicago with all the filth and harsh winters and crime behind. But it had always been my home. And after all, it wasn’t that bad.  
I found myself reaching for my phone and scrolling through the contact list for Gramma’s number. But as my thumb stopped over “Gramma-Mamma-Jamma,” I remembered.  
So I kept scrolling. I thought about calling Scarlett, but then I remembered her telling me that she hadn’t had a single moment to herself since filming began. She was surely sleeping right now.  
And just after “Scarlett,” I read “Sweet Cheeks.” He was still Sweet Cheeks in my phone. I should have changed it. Well, I should have actually deleted it when we broke up, but I couldn’t. I think you can understand why.  
“Lana.”  
He had a strange way of stating my name when I called him, in lieu of a hello or my name in questioning form.  
“Sweet Cheeks,” I answered the same.  
He laughed. “Still?”  
“Yeah,” I answered. “Hey, uh… you got a minute?”  
“Always,” he smiled. I know he did. “Why?”  
“I need career advice.”  
“Do it.”  
“What?”  
He was silent for a second, but then repeated, “Do it.”  
“Do what?”  
“Whatever it is you think you need my approval for. You don’t. Do it.”  
“It’s more complicated than that,” I told him.  
He sighed and it was silent for another few seconds. “If you got an offer to stay out here, then I know why you’re hesitant. But knowing you, you’ll be happier out here. Unless of course you won’t, in which case you should stay in Chi.”  
“Can I tell you about it, though? It’s a huge opportunity.”  
“Look, I’m… uh… I’m about to do a thing. I don’t mind talking about it, but I’ll have to call you back. Is that okay?”  
“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll call you later.”  
“I’ll call you,” he said. “I don’t know how long this will take.”  
“How long what will take?”  
But he had already hung up.  
…  
I waited by my cell phone. It started beside my microwave-safe dish of day-old Chinese takeout, progressed to the lid of the toilet as I took a long, contemplative bubble bath, and then by half past eleven, it ended up tucked inside my pillowcase when I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. He said that he would call later. Yet another broken promise. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet I was.  
I felt that obnoxious buzzing and heard The Association’s Never My Love begin playing, and discovered from my slumber that I was receiving a call at One Twenty-six in the morning.  
Jeremy.  
“This could have waited ‘til tomorrow,” I answered groggily.  
“I told you I’d call you back,” he told me. “You used to stay up until three in the morning.”  
“I used to have a reason to,” I answered.  
“Oh… Sorry… You wanna talk tomorrow instead?”  
“No, it’s fine,” I told him. And it was. Of course it was.  
“Okay, cool.” I heard a car door shut, both over the phone and outside my condo. “Let me in?”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whined with a smile on my face. “Ugh, fine. Hold on.”  
I opened the door, and he helped himself inside. The very light rain had fallen onto his shoulders just enough to elicit a little shudder of his body. “Didn’t have to get all dressed up for me, Lana.”  
I remembered that I had dotted toothpaste over the two zits on my forehead and looked down at my knee-length running shorts and White Sox tee. “Asshole,” I responded, shutting the door. I looked like a boy.  
He made himself at home, searching my fridge in dismay until he found half a Subway sandwich. He inspected it, checked to see how hard the bread had become, and took a bite. “Tell me about this job,” he said finally, grimacing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the sandwich was at least four days old.  
I explained everything. I showed him the binder. I told him how it was literally everything I’d dreamed for myself… only it was all wrong geographically. A half hour later, we were on the couch, and I had my legs stretched across his lap, and his hand was resting on my ankle. I was suddenly aware that I hadn’t shaved since – well – since around the same time that I had bought that sandwich. I didn’t think he’d care, though. It was just Jeremy. He’d seen worse.  
“You really don’t want to leave Chicago, then?”  
“I’ve kinda fallen for it all over again since Gramma died,” I admitted. “I don’t know what it is exactly. Nostalgia, I guess.”  
The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “Nothing wrong with that,” he told me.  
“So… what do I do?”  
He thought for a second. “Pros and cons list?”  
I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”  
“Pen?”  
I reached behind me to the side table and found a pen, handing it to him.  
“Paper?”  
I shook my head.  
“Of course not,” he smiled. He reached for my wrist and pulled me beside him. He reached for my sleeve and rolled it carelessly up to my shoulder and wrote, “PROS,” in large letters at the top of my arm. “Okay, go,” he said.  
“Pros, okay,” I thought aloud. “Well, money. Reputation. Good weather. Dream Job…”  
“Slow down,” he giggled, scrawling down my arm with every word I said. “Okay. Continue.”  
“I know people here,” I said. “And you’re here.”  
He stopped writing, his sloppy script at this point almost to my elbow. “That’s a pro?” He asked.  
I shrugged. “Of course it is.”  
He pulled my arm forward and wrote on the inside of it just below the elbow, “I’M HERE.”  
I smiled down at it. I shook my head. It was just a part of my pros list, and nothing more. I needed to remember that.  
“Cons!” He said suddenly, practically lifting me over to the other side of him. He followed the same ritual, writing “CONS” at the top of my arm.  
“It’s hot here,” I started. “It’s expensive. I’m not LA pretty, so, you know, self-esteem levels are likely to drop. And all my memories are back home.”  
The list read as follows:  
HOT  
EXPENSIVE  
LOW SELF-ESTEEM  
LONELY  
He chuckled. “Could be an autobiography.”  
I pushed him a little. “Shut up.”  
He smiled and sang his little laugh, pulling my arms both in front of me and rattling off each list. “Did this help at all?” He asked.  
“Yeah,” I told him quietly, eyeing more the way his thick fingers – bubble fingers, I used to call them – curled around my wrists. “Yeah, definitely.”  
“Good.”  
“I think I need to reject it.”  
He let go of me, and I instantly missed his hands. “What? Why?”  
“Because this,” I said, pointing to the script on the inside of my pros arm, “Belongs here.” I pointed to my cons arm.  
“You don’t want to live here because I’m here?” He asked almost angrily. “What the fuck kind of decision is that?”  
“Don’t be mad,” I said. “That’s just how it is.”  
“It’s not how it is,” he answered hastily. “You can’t make a decision like that just because I live here! I thought we were doing good!”  
“We are!” I answered. “We’re doing very well. I just… can’t. I can’t be around you as much as I know I would be if I loved here. I can’t do… this… on a regular basis.”  
“You told me I didn’t break you.”  
“You didn’t break me,” I answered adamantly.  
“Then what’s the problem?”  
I looked him in the eye. “You know what the problem is,” I said. “Don’t make me say it.”  
“Oh come on, Lana! You’re acting like a little… a little… princess! And you and I both know you are anything but a princess.”  
“You made me believe in something that didn’t exist,” I told him. My tone had been calm because I was usually calm. But inside? Inside, I was screeching. “I hate to admit it more than you hate to hear it, but you kind of ruined love for me. And then there’s stuff like this when you’re here with me and I’m with you and everything seems kind of perfect. But it’s not perfect, Jeremy. It’s never going to be perfect again and all because you couldn’t fucking return my calls!” Fuck the calm tone. My inner screech was letting loose.  
“I wasn’t the one who wouldn’t even discuss compromise!” He shouted. I’d never seen him this way. “I know you didn’t want to move, but god, Lana! We could have at least had one clear conversation about it! We didn’t have to do everything by the fucking Gospel According to Lana!”  
“No, you know what? Fuck you, Jeremy! I was happy before I came back here!”  
“I wasn’t the one who brought you here, remember? You didn’t even know I was a part of this!”  
“Oh, so all this is my fault? The fact that I’m lonely and weeping and can only seem to find men with severe personal issues? That’s all my fault?”  
“Where the fuck are you even getting that from? All I’m saying is that if you hadn’t been so fucking abnormally obsessed with Scarlett, you wouldn’t have come at her call and flown all the way down here and taken this job because who in their goddamn right mind would take this fucking job the way it was offered to you? I mean who is that stupid?”  
“I guess the same person who falls in love with an asshole like you!”  
“You’re an asshole, too!”  
“Oh, that’s a brilliant comeback! What’s next? Na-na na-na boo-boo?”  
“Just shut the fuck up, okay?”  
“You want me to shut the fuck up? Me?”  
“Yes!”  
“Fuck you!”  
“Fuck you!”  
“Go to hell!”  
“Already there, baby!”  
I lunged at him with one hand extended, ready to swipe that fucking evil grin off of his stupid face with his fucking 5 o’clock shadow and his goddamn kaleidoscope eyes and his cocksucking perfect motherfucking hair, but he gripped my elbow tight as soon as I reached him. He held it there, holding it so forcefully I was afraid I might bruise. I was frozen there, just sort of staring at him. He repulsed me. He repelled me. He was the last person I wanted touching me.  
Until our lips met. Until his arms were around me and my legs were around him and he was walking me in that long stride of his up to the bedroom. Until he had me laying there ripping my clothes off while he unzipped his pants. Until he was pounding into me so hard I was literally seeing stars and screaming his name over and over and over again.  
“I fucking hate you!” I shouted. He was doing that thing where he put his thumb on my clit while he fucked me. “Oh god! Holy mother of Christ I fucking hate you!”  
“Shut the fuck up!” he growled back. His teeth were gritted against my cheek, and he held my hips exactly in place. He had long ago memorized the spots of me that didn’t know how to react to him, or that did, and reacted pleasantly enough. And clearly he hadn’t forgotten that when he bit on my earlobe or breathed on my throat or pulled at the hair at the base of my scalp, I was completely at his mercy.  
I didn’t hate him. He knew that and I knew that. But he got on my nerves the way he insisted that every fucking thing I did revolved around him.  
With one last, strong thrust he had me over the side of the bed, and he fell on top of me. We both just laid there for a second catching our breath before he finally moved away and slipped back into his boxers. “Fuck, Lana,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What the hell just happened?”  
“I, uh… you and I…”  
“No, shut up. I know what happened. I mean, why, though? Why did that happen?”  
I pulled myself onto the bed fully and just sort of lay there, unashamedly naked in front of him when he turned to face me. “You tell me.”  
He shook his head and looked back down at the floor. Shame. That was shame on his face.  
“This was a mistake.”  
“Yeah, I know!”  
“Don’t shout anymore, okay?” He looked back at me, and he was sad now. He was almost crying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lana. I shouldn’t have.”  
“I know.”  
“What am I gonna tell Chris?”  
Chris.  
Fuck.  
“Don’t tell her anything. She doesn’t need to know.”  
“I’ve never cheated before, Lana. I can’t keep this from her.”  
“If you tell her, she’ll probably leave you,” I told him. “Look, it’s not like this is anything we haven’t done before. And I think we can both agree that it won’t happen again.”  
He finished dressing and stood. Now I felt like shit, and that was the last thing I needed. “Damn right it’s not going to happen again.”  
I took one final look at him with the sweat on his brow and the flush in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I said.  
He shook his head. “I’m an idiot,” I heard him mumble before he disappeared from my doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do update faster on jrfrustration.tumblr.com, only because formatting on this site takes longer. So if you're not sure if I updated, check it out there because I might have.


	7. Chapter 7

I told myself there was absolutely no reason for me to be ashamed of what Jeremy and I had done. He was the one with a girlfriend. He was the one who came to my house in the middle of the night. He’s the one who made himself at home and raided my fridge and my life and carried me to bed and took me in a romp that cannot be adequately described because it was the kind of mind-numbingly magnificent sex like you have when you’re about to leave for war or you know you’re going to die.

But I did feel ashamed.

After Jeremy left, I was wide awake. I guess most people tend to fall asleep right after amazing sex, but I’ve always been the opposite. The better the sex, the longer I stay awake. I guess it’s the adrenaline.

I barely slept at all while Jeremy and I were dating.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure what to do. I don’t think Jeremy was trying to make me feel bad about what we’d done, but his rant about how stupid he was and what a mistake it had been that we got together made me feel like the scum of the earth. I was thinking too much. I was always thinking too much.

I picked up the script for The Clock on the Wall and began to read it. I immediately recognized that first scene, the one with old-lady Scarlett spilling her guts to the woman writing her life’s story. But as I read on, it was actually interesting. God, was it interesting.

Scarlett’s character, Marilyn, is a nurse by day, serial killer by night. She discovers her thirst for blood when she kills her father as she witnessed him brutally raping her mother. From that point on, she makes it her personal mission to hunt down rapists. As a nurse, she finds herself treating victims of sexual assault, and once she gains information on the attackers, repeats the victims’ routines to entice the men. And then once she has them, she slashes their throats.

You actually feel sorry for Marilyn. After all, she’s brining men to justice in an era where there was no such thing as DNA testing. Just good old-fashioned justice, according to Marilyn.

As it turns out, she’s only caught for her crimes because she turns herself in after realizing one of her victims was actually innocent, and she cannot deal with the guilt.

I didn’t really get the movie as it was being filmed. For one, it was shot out of sequence – the reasons for which have been explained to me at least a dozen times by now, yet I still don’t understand. For another, when you’re viewing the live filming, you don’t get the special effects or music or sound effects you get on screen. And for yet another, I was so damn busy talking to Jeremy, I hardly paid attention to the little conversations Marilyn was having with the woman who had chosen to write about her life.

My point is The Clock on the Wall was an amazing film. And Scarlett - once I’d watched the b-rolls Jeremy and Louis ran through with me to make sure the set, lighting, and wardrobe worked in sync with each other – Scarlett was amazing.

I read the script well into morning and even past the time my alarm was set to go off. It’s a good thing, too… as it turned out, my alarm wasn’t even working. I wasn’t in any way looking forward to a run-in with Jeremy, but I had to go. I’m a professional, and it’s my job. If he couldn’t deal with what transpired between us the previous evening, that wasn’t my problem.

Yet somehow when he didn’t show that day, I found myself sort of worried. His co-producers had taken to caring for the day’s work, and that surprised me. Not only considering last night, but considering that Scarlett and he were best friends. He was a perfectionist when it came to her work. He would run through film after film with everyone on set for hours on end just to make sure she was absolutely perfect in every shot.

And yet on the final days of shooting, he wasn’t there.

I was tempted to text him. After all, asking how he’d been and why he hadn’t been to work was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t like I was going to message him and ask him about us. Every time I picked my phone from my pocket, however, I couldn’t. He was right. He’d cheated. He needed time to sort that out, and I needed to back off. After all, his not showing up for filming didn’t affect my work in any way.

In the final shot, which was also the final scene of young Marilyn to be shown in the movie, she’s dripping with blood and sitting in a pile of newspapers crying her heart out because she realized too late that she’d killed an innocent man – a man with whom she’d also just happened to find herself falling in love. It was a powerful scene, and even though there was almost no lead-in for context, those lines she kept repeating as she killed him kept ringing through my head:

“I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll be fast. I’m so sorry.”

I was in tears. The director was in tears. Hell, even Louis was sniffling a bit. Her performance was nothing short of excellent, and I wished – as I’m sure she did – that Jeremy could have seen it.

A round of applause rang through the small set and whistles and hoots for poor corn syrup-covered Scarlett could have been heard for a mile. And in the midst of all the admiration and adoration, who did she come to immediately after we wrapped?

Me.

“Come with me, kid,” she laughed as a PA threw a robe around her soaked body. “Let’s talk.”

I followed her to her dressing room and helped her run her shower, as she’d at this point ordered the PA to leave us alone. She undressed carefully, and I placed the costume in a special garment bag to be sent to the cleaners while she hopped in and immediately washed off. The crappy budget had afforded her a decent-sized space for her dressing room, but unfortunately her shower wasn’t partitioned from the rest of the room. And that meant steam. Lots of steam. Everywhere.

“Sorry,” she called out, though she didn’t have to. I was right there outside the curtain. “I’ll be glad to be out of this dump.”

I could see barely across into the mirror, and my eyes made me look like a raccoon.

“Have you talked to Renner?”

I kind of knew she’d be bringing that up. “Not since Wednesday.”

“Oh, okay,” she called again. “So, uh… what the fuck?”

“I don’t need a lecture, J,” I told her. “He and I just… I don’t know. It was all very sudden and fast and it shouldn’t have happened. Won’t happen again. Can we move on?”

“No,” she said firmly without an ounce of hesitation. “We can’t. You knew he was with someone, you knew he shouldn’t have been there, and you knew how he is when he’s with you! He has no self-control when it comes to you!”

“Just remember I never asked him to come over, okay? That’s all him.”

“Oh, I’m pissed at him too, believe me,” she scolded. “I just… I saw you too going through all that crap last year, and I hated it. Do you know what he was like during your breakup? He was crazy. Always moping, always drinking, always saying shit like, ‘Lana would have said this,’ or, ‘Lana would have done that,’ or ‘Blah blah blah Lana blah blah blah.’ The guy had issues, and Chris was the first girl to get him to stop being that way.”

“You’re blaming me,” I said defensively. “You can’t blame me.”

“I’m blaming both of you. You’re both grown-ass adults, and you both knew better. I’m pissed at both of you.”

I stood from my seat and grabbed the garment bag from the wardrobe. “Is that all?” I asked.

She shut off the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and stepped out. “No,” she told me.

“Then what else? Because I have places to go.”

She looked down at the ground and sat in the seat I’d been sitting in. “I think the damn idiot is still into you. I mean, he’s in love with you. And you guys aren’t going to get together, are you?”

“I don’t see that ever happening,” I said honestly.   
“Then just… tell him. Because I have a feeling he’s going to try getting back together with you. He already broke up with Chris, and I didn’t think he’d ever do that. The only reason I can imagine is that he thinks something’s going to happen with you guys. And if it’s not,” she said, looking up at me again. “Have some mercy and tell the poor guy.”

There were no other seats in the room, so I leaned against the door. I clutched the garment bag to my chest and sighed, staring into nothing because I couldn’t focus on anything. “He doesn’t want me like that,” I assured her once I was finally able to speak again. “It’s not like that.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly like that,” she said. “He friggin’ loves you.”

“No,” I insisted. “No. That doesn’t make sense. Now you,” I emphasized, “You, I could see him being in love with. And Christina, sure. That makes sense. But not me. Not after what we’ve been through. Not when I look like I do and am only gaining weight from all the shit I’ve eaten since I’ve been out here.”

“First of all, shut the fuck up. You’re beautiful. And second, no one has anything you don’t have. You’re just as good as any woman he’s ever been with – better, even. You know why? Because you did something for him that no one else has ever done. You made him… I don’t know… good. You made a man out of him.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“Well join the club. I wish I could really put my finger on it, but I can’t. I don’t know what it is that you did, but it was wonderful.”

“So you’re telling me not to be with him, but you’re also telling me, in effect, that I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“I’m not telling you not to be with him. I’m telling you to be honest with him. No more trial relationship shit. I love him, and he’s my best friend. I can’t see him hurting again. I just can’t.”

I was quiet again, thinking about what she was saying and deciding she had a point. While Jeremy and I clearly had issues, of course I cared about him. And of course the physical relationship we had was nothing short of mind-blowing. But romantic relationships are more than that. Exactly how much more and what they were was still sort of a mystery to me, and if anything should have been proof that I wasn’t ready for a relationship – a relationship with him, nonetheless – it was that.

“It’s probably never going to work out with me and Jeremy,” I admitted. “We wanted different things then, and we still want different things.” I hated to say it out loud. God, it was painful. But it was true. “But if you think I don’t love him or that I don’t care about him, or that I would do anything to hurt him on purpose, you’re—”

“I’m not saying any of that,” she said as she laid her hand comfortingly on my arm. “I’m just saying you need to be honest about your feelings. If you feel like you should be with him and like it’ll work, fine. If not, fine. Either way, though, you have got to tell him. You’ve got to.”

“I will.”

She stood and gave me one of those “come here” hugs and kisses to the cheek, and I didn’t want to let go. She was the friend I never had. She was the one who told me the truth and wasn’t afraid to yell at me a little. She was the one who kept me grounded.

Like she’d always said, she was my buddy.

“Do you think I should call him?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But don’t talk to him about it all over the phone. Have lunch or something.”

“And… he really broke up with Chris?”

“According to Jamison,” she said. And I still have no idea how Jamison knew.

“Do you think it was out of guilt?”

“If I know Jeremy at all, and I think maybe I do a little, then yeah. He did it because he felt it was the right thing.”

I shouldn’t have smiled, but I did.

…

I had just gotten home and kicked my shoes off, looked around for my cat like I always did out of habit (even though Bartholomew wasn’t there), and flipped on the TV. This was the first day I’d had without anything to fret over in the evening, and it was nice. Very nice. Almost like being home.

Almost.

I checked my phone and of course no one had called or messaged. The girl who lived in the apartment next to mine back home and who had been caring for Bart had been pretty good about keeping me updated. So when she hadn’t texted, I called, and he was fine. Then I sent Jamison a text to let him know I’d be there in the morning. And then… then I texted Jeremy.

Sent: 10:09PM

Everyone was asking about you at the rap party. 

Received: 10:44PM

What did you tell them?

Sent: 10:47PM

That I had no clue where you were or why you weren’t there.

Received: 10:52

I’m sorry, Lana. 

That was all he said, and I probably typed about a dozen different messages ranging from “No prob” to “We should talk” and everything in between. But I didn’t send a single one, and I went to sleep that night without responding.

He, however, sent several texts. I’m sure he assumed I’d read them and chosen to ignore them, but that wasn’t the case.

Received: 12:00AM

Turns out she and I woulda broken up anyway.

Received: 12:32AM

I know I was angry and I overreacted and I’m sorry. I promise I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.

Received: 12:44AM

Please Lana. You’re the only person who doesn’t hate me right now. Unless you do of course. And I wouldn’t blame you.

Received: 1:05AM

Never My Love is on my stereo right now. Remember that one?

Received: 1:29AM

It has just occurred to me that you might be sleeping. If you didn’t respond to Never My Love, you’re either sleeping or dead. I’m going with the former.

Received 1:44AM

I really hope you’re just sleeping. This would be awkward otherwise.

Received: 2:01AM

Good night. Love ya. 

When I read the last text, I was able to smile again. I was just about to text him back when I received another text. This one from Jamison.

Received: 9:02AM

Can you be at The Melting Pot at noon today?

Sent: 9:05AM

Yeah. Or you could just come over. I’m not going anywhere today.

Received: 9:10AM

No, I’d rather take you to lunch.

It wasn’t often that he wanted to discuss business at a restaurant, but I could understand his desire to speak outside of his cramped office.

And just like that, I sort of forgot about Jeremy. Well, it wasn’t that I forgot him as much as I just… lowered his priority. After all, my whole thing when it came to dealing with him was that I was at a point in my life where I wanted to focus on my career, and talking to my agent about a job seemed more important at the moment than boyfriends. In fact, everything seemed more important than boyfriends. Especially food. Mmmm… food…

The Melting Pot was a bit of a deviation from the usual places we met. Meaning it wasn’t a greasy burger joint or a fish-n-chips stop or any of those types of places that looks like the department of health’s worst nightmare, but that actually serves food so good you’d gladly pay in the vomit you’ll have later.

He sat near the front in a table far too small for two of us. He wore dark jeans, a pink button-down, and a black blazer – I remember this because it was hard not to. He looked incredible, and there I was in my short dungarees and band tee, gray converse without socks on my feet like I was some kind of redneck.

I took off my hat and sunglasses and headed toward him, and he stood as soon as he saw me. He didn’t comment on my outfit or look me over judgingly, simply throwing his arms around me and bringing me into a welcoming hug. “Miss Fillmore,” he smiled as I sat down.

“I feel really underdressed,” I said. “Like… I thought this was another cheap dive. No offense.”

“None taken,” he nodded. “If you want a recommendation, their chicken is good. Any kind of chicken.”

“Have they got buttermilk fried?” I asked, perusing the menu.

He laughed a little, but stopped as soon as I noticed. “No. They’ve got a rosemary chicken, however. It’s amazing.”

I closed the menu and set it down. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Rhodes.” I folded my hands on top of the table. “Now… look. About that series…”

“No, no,” he shook his head, interrupting me. He had a way of doing that. “I don’t want to talk about work.”

Then it occurred to me.

We’re in a nice restaurant. He’s wearing a jacket. There’s a candle on the table and John Mayer on the stereo system and we’re not talking about work.

Date. This is a date.

Oh.

I straightened up in my seat and thought about whether or not this was something I actually wanted. Jamison Rhodes was a beautiful specimen, that’s for sure. He was sweet and kind and thoughtful, a brilliant example of strength, and he loved his family. On paper, he was the ideal man. But something was missing.

Maybe it was that certain unattainable quality.

I felt bad when my focus returned and he’d been talking about something. I think it was his kids, actually. And that made me feel worse. His kids were his world, probably more so now than ever since he’d lost his daughter. One of his kids had just won some sort of championship. He was elated. I wished I had been listening better.

“That’s awesome!” I told him. And I really was happy for him and his son.

“But enough about me. What about you? Your family… they’re all back in Chicago?”

Ugh, family. I hated this subject.

“I don’t have much family,” I told him. “Actually… I don’t think I have any, really. My grandmother raised me and I don’t know where either of my parents are. No siblings, no cousins. Just me.”

“Well then what has you so attached to the city?”  
“My grandma died a few months ago,” I told him. I was grateful that I was able to talk about it these days without crying anymore. “She’d had cancer for a while, and… uh, well anyway. Yeah. Lots of memories, I guess. I’m starting to appreciate it all over again.”

“How’s work out there?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about work?”

“We’re not,” he said. “Not specifically. I meant just in general. How’s work?”

“The good jobs are few and far between,” I told him. “But hey, now I’ve done a movie. Maybe I can get in on some of that Broadway in Chicago action.”

“I can always find recommendations for you,” he said. “Part of the job.”

“Thanks,” I told him. And then our waiter came and I ordered the rosemary chicken and… it all became so surprisingly easy. Out of nowhere, he wasn’t my agent. He was this hot guy I was on a date with. He was classy and sophisticated and sweet. And I was on a date. A fucking date. Having a good time in spite of my inappropriate fashion choice for the occasion.

The rosemary chicken was amazing. I learned that Jamison was 40 years old, not my age as I originally thought. I learned that he enjoyed fishing and owned a boat and that he used to compete in surf championships. I learned that his celebrity crush was Kerry Washington and that my smile reminded him of hers. I learned that he thought I was strong and smart and beautiful of course. And I learned that moving on wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.

If this were the story of me and Jamison Rhodes, I would tell you more of the specifics. I would tell you exactly everything that would eventually cause my affection for him to grow, and the things that would convince me he was a better choice, and the ways he made me happy. But it isn’t. It’s the story of me and Jeremy, from being his stylist and an almost stranger to being his sex buddy to being in love with him to being his ex to being his employee to being… well… what we are now. And that takes time. And detail. And unfortunately for the wonderful Mr. Jamison Rhodes, that means sparing some of the details.

I did ask him to tell me more about his surfer days, and he took me to the coast and walked with me and we watched the sunset from the pier. And when he dropped me at home, he walked me to the door like a proper gentleman. And I even asked him in.

“Not tonight,” he told me. “Glory has a few things she needs me to take care of.”

I didn’t quite understand his attachment to his ex-wife. He’d left meetings before to “help Glory with something” and it had ranged from changing lightbulbs to running her bath to checking for prowlers in broad daylight. I guess it wasn’t the attachment I didn’t understand. I guess it was Glory’s mental illness. Addiction made sense to me. Addiction and its side effects were never difficult to grasp. But mental illness – your mind turning your body into its slave – will never make sense to me. And I’m working on that. I really am.

“Good night, Mr. Rhodes,” I told him.

He kissed my cheek. That bastard.

There’s a line in the George Clooney adaptation of Ocean’s Eleven where Ocean asks Tess about her new boyfriend:

“Does he make you laugh?” He asks.

“He doesn’t make me cry,” is her answer.

And I could finally sympathize with that.

…

Jeremy had texted me throughout the day. Mostly he was asking to meet me. A few times he told me he was sorry. Once he asked me who was the fourteenth president because he was doing a crossword puzzle.

Sent: 8:09PM

Franklin Peirce.

Received: 8:13PM

Yeah. I remembered I had google on my phone.

Received: 8:22PM

Mallard Fillmore was a president. Any relation?

Sent: 8:30PM 

MILLARD Fillmore. Mallard Fillmore is a comic strip about a duck.

Received: 8:38PM

Any relation?

Sent:8:40PM

Not that I know of.

Received: 8:44PM

What about to the president?

Sent: 8:50PM

I hate you.

Received: 8:55PM

Hate you, too. 

That’s when I shut my phone off. I had to.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jeremy. It’s Lana.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, uh… how – how are you?”

“I don’t know. Not great.”

“You’re breaking my heart, dude. I’m sorry about everything, but I—”

“It’s not you, Lana.”

I paused because his words surprised me. I didn’t know what he meant exactly. It wasn’t me. I hoped he meant it wasn’t my fault. I was supposed to know that. “Jeremy, can we not talk about that right now?”

“We don’t have to,” he told me. “But you asked how I was doing.”

“Yeah, because I thought you were alright now. You seemed to be in a good mood when we were texting last night.”

“I was,” he said quickly. “Doesn’t mean I’m okay.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” he asked. “Don’t you already know? Or can’t you at least take a guess?”

“Look, I… have to talk to you about something. Do you feel up to meeting me at least? Maybe… we could get lunch?”

I could hear him sigh the way he does when he’s trying to make sure I hear his sigh, but he said yes anyway. “Foster’s at noon. And I think I left my hat at your place, so if you could bring it, that’d be nice.”

“Yeah,” I told him, looking over to his black ball cap hanging off the post of my bed. “I’ll bring it.”

Foster’s had become one of my favorites here. It was just a little diner, but it was cheap and it was good and it was owned by Greeks so you got a lot of food for the price. I liked it because it was fantastic for contributing to my slow but steady weight gain. He liked it because it was sort of off the radar, and it was one of the few places no paps were ever lurking.

I showed up at the restaurant a good twenty minutes early, and he was already there. He sat in the rear with his back to the street, but I’d recognize that back of a head and those slumped shoulders anywhere.

I walked up behind him and slipped the hat on his head before I rounded the table to take my seat. “Hi, Grumps.”

“Lana Banana,” he said in a sort of half-smile. I took what I could get.

“Did you  
order yet?”

“No. It’s not lunch time yet.”

“I’m here, and I say it’s lunch time.”

He smiled, this time all the way, and slid his menu over to me. “I already know what I’m getting,” he said.

“And what’s that?”

“Greek chicken. I assume you’re getting gyros?”

“Are they any good here?”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe not Athens Elite good, but good enough.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

I had no plans to continue our conversation like this – so domestic and typical and cliché-ridden. But here we were with our lunch orders. Here we were. Together.

The waitress came and brought our drinks, and I started on my Dr. Pepper and he on his lemon water, and he went on about how he’s back on his protein diet, his muscle-mass inducing diet, his gain-twenty-pounds-of-not-too-much-fat-but-maybe-a-little-for-the-character diet. He was scheduled to start shooting in a little over three weeks in Canada. Toronto. He’d always liked Toronto and wanted to work with this particular director and hey guess who’s the leading lady, it’s Emily Blunt, and he thought she was incredible in that movie about angels. And I sat back and listened and let him talk. Because when Jeremy wanted to talk about his feelings, he didn’t. He talked about everything else. Literally everything else. The weather, his food, work, people, his bathroom habits. Ew, Jeremy. Didn’t need to hear that.

And then he was asking how I’d been. And for the life of me, I couldn’t decide.

“Actually what I wanted to tell you,” I said, hesitating, sitting up straight for the first time in a while and adjusting my skirt, “Was that I’m actually… seeing someone. Sort of. I think.”

With a mouthful of oregano-seasoned poultry, he looked me in the eye. It was a shock to him. “Back in Chicago?” he asked once he’d swallowed.

“No,” I replied. “Here.”

He nodded slowly and looked down at his plate. “Good for you,” he mumbled rather passively, and I think he only wanted me to think he cared at all who I was seeing or where.

“It’s Jamison,” I continued. “We’re sort of… I don’t know… it’s very casual. We haven’t even slept together yet.”

He shrugged, still looking at his plate as he downed another bite. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m in no hurry,” I answered defensively. “We’ll do it when we’re ready.”

“He won’t put out, will he?” he asked, almost laughing at me. “I’d bet anything that you’re ready but he’s not, right?”

“We’ve been on exactly one real date,” I said. “Do you expect me to put out on my first date?”

“No,” he answered. “But you already knew him, he’s an attractive guy, you’re cute, and I would expect it to happen.”

I adjusted my skirt again, suddenly aware that my thighs were growing by the day it seemed and that I was going to either buy new clothes or work out, and the latter sounded like hell. “He’s divorced, and his wife has… issues. I mean real issues, too, just not… you know. Baby Mama Drama.”

“What does that have to do with your guys’ thing?”

“He sort of takes care of her,” I told him. “She gets set off by the smallest things, and they’ve got kids at home, and… one of his kids just died recently. It’s all more sad than anything, but if we give it time, I know it will happen whenever it’s meant to. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t wait.”

“Yeah there is,” he said.

“And that is?”

“Well you’re moving back home, aren’t you?”

I sighed, and now I was the one looking down at my plate. “No,” I answered timidly. “I think I’m staying.”

“Goddammit, Lana,” he chuckled. “You used me as a reason to leave but you’re using him as a reason to stay? This isn’t you.”

“I’m not staying for him,” I said. “I’ve been giving it some thought and I decided you’re right. I can’t use you as a reason to leave. Truth is, I do want a career, and I do think it would be good for me, and aside from the fact that I’ve gained, like, twenty pounds since I got here, I like this place.”

“You deserve what’s best for you,” he said in his patronizing tone that I mostly hated. “You should be happy and all of that crap, yeah. But you’re staying for him. You say you’re not, but you are.”

“You don’t know,” I told him adamantly, trying to keep my cool. He knew maybe more than anyone that I wasn’t exactly the type to let romance get in the way of my career, and he knew that this whole topic would get under my skin. He was trying to get under my skin.

“I’m not going to humor you,” I said simply, relaxing back into my seat. “Job pays very nicely, location is fantastic, I get to hobnob with some big name stars, and you and I can still hang out and be buddies just like you said you wanted. Cool?”

He chomped his chicken more aggressively than anyone needs to and looked down to cut himself another slice. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“About me and Chris. About how things went when I told her.”

“I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“I don’t want you to know. I don’t want anyone to know. But you should know since you were involved.”

“If you want to tell me, go ahead. I’m not fishing for the lowdown.”

“She was fucking her agent,” he said plainly, little to no regard as to who else may have heard him.

I didn’t expect that. Even if I didn’t have the highest opinion of her, I didn’t think that could be true. Who would cheat on him? “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I sat her down, told her I needed to tell her something she’d hate me for, she asked if I cheated. When I told her I did, she said it was sort of a relief because she’d been fucking her agent for over a month now.”

“God, Jeremy,” I told him, my appetite surprisingly erased as I pushed away my plate. “I’m so sorry.”

He raised his eyebrows, and while the actions disgusted me out of eating, he only ate faster. “It is what it is. I have no right to be mad.”  
“Sure you do! You have every right! She was your girlfriend. You said you wanted to marry her.”

“Well… the marriage thing might have been a little rushed. I told her I loved her while I was drunk, apparently. I don’t even remember it.”

“See?” I said with a cautious smile. “That’s why I don’t drink anymore.”

“Don’t drink anymore? You?”

“Nope. Haven’t had a drop since I stayed the night at your house a few weeks back or whenever that was.”

“Why not?”

“I told you I thought I had a drinking problem,” I said. “I was drunk when I told you that. Waking up in your bed was sort of the moment that solidified that for me.”

He shook his head. “Can’t believe I’m selling that fucking house for her,” he grumbled. “Just put it on the market this week. In fact, that’s what had me too busy to show up on set.”

“You don’t have to sell it, you know. You’re not moving in with her anymore.”

“Yeah, but now it’s already listed and I’ve got everything ready to go. It’s all staging furniture in there now, you know. No more of my stuff—”

When he stopped mid-sentence, I wondered what was going on. “You alright?”

“You loved that place,” he said slowly.

“Yeah. So?”

“You helped me pick out the backsplash and the tile and the trim… you practically designed that interior.”

“And?”

“You should buy it.”

“Jeremy, I’m not rich yet,” I told him. “I mean, sure. I’d love to live there. But it’s really not practical.”

“You can have it for cost,” he bargained. “Which is cheap. And you can start staying whenever. If you don’t have the money now, no problem. We’ll take care of that when you’re a millionaire.”

“You have a place to go?”

“I’ll stay there ‘til I do,” he shrugged. “Come on. You really think that would be awkward considering?”

“No,” I answered.

“Then it’s decided.” He took a long sip from his glass and was silent again.

“I’m going back home for a few weeks to close up shop there,” I told him. “And to get my things, obviously. And Bart.”

“Aw, how is that pussy?”

“Stop.”

“Seriously, how is he?”

“Good. Healthy. He’s a cat, Jeremy. It’s not like he talks to me about his day.”

“Think he’ll get along with my kiddos?”

“I don’t care if they get along or not. If they’ve got a problem, they can go live in the doghouse.”

“If by the doghouse you mean the entire house, then I agree.”

“Bart must be protected!”

He shook his head and smiled. “We’ll work it out. It’s not like they’re much bigger than cats themselves anyway. Course, they think they are, but you know.”

We finished our meals and walked out, and instinctively I crooked my arm with his and it was fine with both of us. We decided just to walk for a while, enjoying the gloomy sky that seemed to keep the paps away while we circled the lot to the cars.

“What was it that you needed to talk to me about?”

“Oh,” I said quietly. I thought he understood. “The whole Jamison thing.”

“Oh, that’s all? Why did you think I needed to know that?”

“I don’t know. Because it involves my dating life and, you know, so do you sorta.”

He stopped at the edge of the back lot and looked toward the hills that set a pretty spectacular scene for us to view in the same contemplative manner it seemed fitting for. “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, surprisingly honest. “I think so. I’m getting there, at least.”

“Good,” he said decidedly. “That’s all I want.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I love you, Lana. Maybe not the way I used to, but I think this way is better. I love you like a si—”

“Don’t you fucking say it!” I interrupted. “I am not your fucking sister!”

“Sorry,” he laughed.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “How long do you think it’ll take you to find a place?”

“Few weeks,” he answered. “There’s a house in the Valley – a different one from the one Chris and I were building – it needs some work and all that. It’s a short sale, so it could take a little time, but I already put an offer in.”

“Good,” I nodded. “I’m glad. You never were happy unless you were working on something.”

“You really like Jamison?”

“Oh, are we still on that?” I asked, genuinely wondering why he cared so much.

“Tell me,” was all he replied.

“So far, yeah. What’s not to like?”

“He’s been married. He has kids with her.”

“And?”

“And… you’re never gonna have that with him. You’re always gonna be on the back burner. His kids and his ex will always come first, Lana.”

At this I let go of him and walked to my car. He knew he’d said a completely asshole-y thing, but it was clear he still felt it was the right thing to say. I didn’t throw a fit, didn’t slam my car door shut, didn’t cuss him out. I just walked to my car and stepped inside, leaning into the seat.

He followed behind me as calm as I had been and opened the door, kneeling beside me. “Lana, I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m telling you it’s true.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said quietly. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

“I know,” he said. “But that’s the truth. I’m trying to save you from the way it’s gonna hurt if I’m right. And I am right.”

“What if I just don’t date anyone?” I asked him. “Would that make you happy?”

“No, Lana, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

He reached his hand to mine and squeezed it tight. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“You didn’t break me,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but… you broke me. And it sucked.”

I looked over at him, and he was giving me that look. His eyes were like quarters and his lower lip had shifted up into the most pathetic position. “I didn’t break you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

I wanted to cry, but there was no real reason to. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I still think you’re wrong, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he told me sweetly, rubbing my knuckles. “It was good for me, I think. Mostly it taught me to be less of an asshole.”

“Because you don’t want to hurt anyone?”

“That’s the idea. Hasn’t worked as well as I hoped, but I guess you’re my exception.”

“To what?”

“To everything.”

“So you fucked me and felt like shit, broke up with your serious girlfriend because of me, but it was okay because I’m your exception.”

“I don’t regret it,” he said.

I turned the key in the ignition and fastened my seatbelt. “Don’t ever do it again.”

“What? Sleep with you?”

“Cheat,” I said.

…

The drive back was quiet. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I was alone in the car, after all. But I have a weird habit of talking out loud to myself at all times. Just, you know, talking. Sometimes the things I say make sense. Mostly they don’t. Gramma told me I’d been doing it since I was five.

But I didn’t talk to myself this time. I thought about what Jeremy said. I thought about how it couldn’t possibly be true, and Jamison wasn’t the type who would fall in love – not that we were in love or anything close to that – just to abandon me for his ex whenever she was having one of her bad days. Jamison was sweet and loving and caring. He was everything all the time that Jeremy was some of the time. And he was more attainable, which at the moment was probably the most important factor.

I got back to my condo and started packing. Somehow over lunch I had agreed to move in with Jeremy, and it was either the biggest mistake of my life or the biggest blessing of the moment. The studio would no longer be paying my housing allowance, and my choices were, it seemed, bunking at Jeremy’s or going back home for good.

Listen. I don’t want you thinking I stayed for Jamison or for Jeremy or for Scarlett or for anyone at all besides myself. I knew I needed to move on, and I knew that I would ultimately be happier here. After all, this was what I wanted to do with my life from the time I saw The Wizard of Oz. But I loved Chicago. I had memories there. Memories of growing up. Memories of Gramma. Memories of Jeremy.

And if it weren’t for that last one, I would have moved back, probably.

Again, I didn’t move because of Jeremy. Just because he was a huge part of my sentiment toward home, he was only one of what was eventually a list of twenty-six reasons why I moved to Cali. Still I found myself that evening in my jammies, boxing the very few items I had here, crying a little because this was a huge step for me.

I booked my flight and made my arrangements to go to Chicago and Merrillville to pack up my life. I would be there for a total of nineteen days, and the weather that time of year, though completely unpredictable, should have been pleasant enough for me to make my rounds at all my familiar haunts, if only to say goodbye to them.

I don’t even remember when I made the conscious decision to move out here. I just know that I was very adamantly against it, then suddenly treating it as if it were my only option. Ultimately, however, I was glad to have made the decision – even if I couldn’t specifically remember making it.

It was almost nine when I picked up my phone and dialed Jamison’s number. I knew there was a great chance that he wouldn’t answer, or that if he did, that it wouldn’t be a very fruitful conversation. But I needed to talk to him. If for no other reason, to prove Jeremy wrong.

“Miss Fillmore,” he answered cheerily before a single ring had finished.

“Mr. Rhodes,” I replied, finally exhaling and sitting in my favorite chair. “How are you this evening?”

“Not bad. Watching a movie. How about you?”

“What movie are you watching?”

“Traitor’s Blade,” he said. “It’s crap.”

“Then why are you watching it?”

“This guy in it, I’m representing him now. I’m just sort of familiarizing myself with his work.”

“And?”

“And I don’t foresee myself making too much money off of that one.”

I laughed a little, more from courtesy than anything. “Hey, what are you doing Friday night?”

“As of yet, I have nothing on. Why?”

“I was thinking you could come over to my place. I’m leaving Sunday to go home for a few weeks, and I’d like to make you dinner.”

“You cook?”

“I cook,” I answered proudly. “I even take requests.”

“Oh, I’m sure anything will be fine. I’d love that. What time?”

“Oh, let’s say… eight?”

“Eight it is.”

Then there was a sort of longish uncomfortable silence while I tried to figure out how to say goodbye but also consider trying to squeeze more info from him. Thankfully he spoke first.

“I know it’s early, but your movie, and particularly your part in it, should be eligible for several Oscar nominations.”

“This movie isn’t even coming out for another seven months.”

“I know. But word gets around in this city, Miss Fillmore. I’ve just gotten another three more offers today that I’m supposed to run past you.”

“I’m not that good.”

“It’s not just the Oscars. There’s also the Globes, the CDG, the ADAs… sky’s the limit. You’ll be at the very least eligible for those things.”

I giggled like a schoolgirl and probably turned a bright red, glad he didn’t see. “I could be Oscar nominee Lana Fillmore?”

“Could be,” he said. “Does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

And that’s when I knew.

I didn’t have to prove anything to Jeremy or to Jamison or to anyone else. The thought of being Oscar-nommed was by far the most stimulating feeling I had about either of those men or anyone else since I came here. There was no doubt in my mind that I was making this move for the right reasons, and if Jeremy didn’t see that, too fucking bad.

“I think you should know,” I told him, maybe inappropriately, “That I intend to serve up dessert as well… If you know what I mean…”

Jeremy would have called this a cliché. He would have made fun of me and laughed and then told me he didn’t mind since he knew I secretly loved clichés despite my protests. But Jamison didn’t do that.

“I can’t wait,” was all he said in his deep, pleasant baritone.

I hung up and slid my phone onto the nightstand. I wouldn’t sleep for another couple of hours, but it wouldn’t feel that long.

Normally I would have celebrated immediately, a bottle of champagne and probably a dozen donuts in my lap if I was alone. Half a bottle and half a dozen if I was with someone. But I had neither of those things, so instead I texted the one person I knew would be truly happy for me.

.

To: Sweet Cheeks

Sent: 12:09AM

Jamison says I could be nommed for costume design next January.

.

Received: 12:11AM

You expect me to be surprised? 

Congrats tho. I’m proud of you, Banana


	9. Chapter 9

I’d packed and shipped my boxes back home by the time Friday morning rolled around. With the trip heavy on my mind, I found it difficult to focus on a romantic evening at my condo with Jamison, but at least I could manage enough to find a few candles, a pretty little black dress, and a CD of Simon and Garfunkel. Close enough.

I wasn’t lying exactly when I told him I could cook. I think I can probably whip up any variety of chicken you can imagine – Parmesan, barbeque, pot pie, you name it. I’m crap at the rest of the food spectrum, but chicken I can do. So chicken it was.

Gentleman that he is, he showed at my door exactly ten minutes before we’d discussed. Not too early, not too late. And in his hand, one of those wines you can’t find at Walgreens.

“Miss Fillmore,” he beamed when I opened the door. “You look radiant!”

I don’t get a lot of compliments on my physical attractiveness. And when I do, it’s lines of how hot I am, how sexy I look, or how badly a guy wants to fuck me. That had to be the first time I’d been called radiant in my entire life.

I probably blushed like a girl’s expected to do. “You look pretty good too, chum,” I smiled. And god, he did. Black suit and open-collared white shirt. Simple. Perfect.

You know how these evenings go. I don’t need to explain. There was the small talk, the sitting at my tiny table – even that wasn’t really mine – and the serving of adequately-plated food while he poured our wine. He’d said he didn’t drink. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks. And yet here was this fifty-dollar wine on our table, and the two of us are drinking water out of long-stemmed glasses.

Neither of us mentioned the elephant in the room. I thought it was obvious that I was grateful for his contribution to the meal, and since he didn’t so much as glanced at the bottle maybe it didn’t matter anyway. He talked about his kids for a long time, complimented my chicken Kiev, and told me a couple of corny jokes his son had invented. And then somehow we were on the subject of families in general.

“Do you want kids?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

He nodded, but he didn’t seem to like the answer. I can’t quite place how I saw that, but I just did.

“You know, I’ve been blessed with four beautiful children, one in Heaven God rest her soul, and they’ve been the light of my life. I’m perfectly happy with them, and if I’m being honest… well, I never thought I’d want to settle down. Not if you’d asked me twenty years ago.”

“And… you don’t want any more? That’s what you’re saying?”

He seemed uneasy, but this was a question we’d have to get out of the way sooner or later. “I just think my best days are behind me as far as chasing kids around a playground. I’m forty, you know. I was married for a long time to the love of my life and the only woman I’d ever want kids with.” He finally looked up at me, and he could see what I felt. I’m not like Jeremy. I can’t cover it up behind a manufactured gaze.

“It wouldn’t be my worst option to be with someone who already has kids. It’s definitely easier than the alternative.”

“How so?”

I smiled generously. “Well who wouldn’t prefer to avoid childbirth, right?”

It fell awkwardly silent after that. What had started off as a sweet, intelligent exchange turned quickly into a host of reasons we shouldn’t be together. As was always the case, it was the subject of kids. It was always kids.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Why not.”

“You’re what, 31? Or you almost are? And you must have been in serious relationships. Why haven’t you gotten married by now?”

“Not everyone marries straight out of high school, Mr. Rhodes.”

“But have you ever come close?”

A little smirk shadowed over my lips. “Sure. Couple times I guess.”  
He nodded. “So why didn’t you ever marry?”

“I’m still young,” I said. “I’m not in any hurry.”

“But if you’ve been close before like you said, why didn’t it happen?”

“You want to talk about exes?” I asked.

“Maybe not specifically,” he answered. “Just… well. I don’t know. Just why it didn’t work out.”

“You’re wondering what’s wrong with me?” I asked. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with y— Look, we’re getting off on the wrong track here. Can we start over?”

“Sure,” I told him with a smile. If anyone understands what it feels like to say what you don’t mean, it’s me after all.

“The point I want to make, Lana, is that I care about you very much. I guess I even love you. And if I thought you wanted me, I‘d marry you today. But I know for a fact that I don’t want to have any more children, and I want to know that you don’t need that.”

“You love me?”

“Yes. I think I do.”

Fuck.

“I… I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” I said. “I always thought I’d adopt. I don’t know. Recently I’ve considered other options.”

“Would my kids be enough, though?”

I shook my head. “They’d never be my kids. Not really. Not when they live with their mom most of the time.”

“They’d like you,” he said. “They might even end up loving you someday. You know, once they get to know you.”

“Jamison,” I said quietly, pushing my plate away. “I – this is all very – just a lot more serious than I intended.”

“And what was it that you intended?”

“Dinner and sex,” I answered.

Look, it’s always proved a pretty reliable way of shutting a guy up to mention sex, or more specifically, to voice an interest in participating in it with said guy. Jamison, though… not as easy as most.

“Lana, I’m serious. I love you.”

“I know. Shut up.”

“Do you or do you not want kids of your own?”

“Jamison, please… this is more than I wanted to talk about…”

“Lana. Do you want to have a baby at some point?”

“God, yes! Okay? Yes! Yes, I want a baby! Are you happy now?”

He was so good at being calm. I supposed he’d had plenty of practice.

“I’m not happy, but at least I know now,” he answered. “I’m not going to have sex with you when I know we don’t have a future.”

“Don’t you want to fuck?” I asked. “Don’t you ever do anything that’s just fun? Just fun and stupid and meaningless? Don’t you ever drink at all? Every smoke a joint? Ever screw some random girl because it feels so fucking good just to release all that stress? You live one of the most insane personal lives of anyone I know. Don’t you ever just want to escape and get your brains fucked out of your goddamn head?”

“No,” he answered far too simply for my taste. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what kind of men you’re used to, but I’m not the kind of man who can sleep with strangers. And I definitely couldn’t sleep with someone I care about when I knew she’d never feel the same.” He wiped the corners of his mouth and stood, placing his napkin neatly on the table. “I’m sorry, Lana. I just can’t.”

I didn’t stand. He knew where the door was. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I’ll always be in love with her,” he said. “She’s the mother of my children.”  
“I know lots of men with baby mamas. They’re not always in love with them.”

“Well that’s the difference between me and the men you know,” he said. “I would never hurt you.”

I watched him eagerly, hoping he’d storm out like every other guy would have. But no. Not Jamison Rhodes. That idiot walked around to me and reached for my hand, kissing it softly with lips I only wanted to taste even more after this gesture. “Goodnight, Miss Fillmore. Have a safe trip.”

My feelings toward Jamison changed that night probably five or six different times. At first, he was a sweetheart, if not a bit pretentious. But then he was a heartless jerk. Then he was a hero who’d saved his family from tragedy, and of course it was only natural he’d want to save me, too. He didn’t know I could be ideal for his ready-made family. How could he? And yet he had one. Maybe it was what I wanted. No, not with their mother in the condition she was in. Out there somewhere was a girl who’d be strong enough for that. I was not that girl. I just knew I wasn’t.

I couldn’t hate him. But I did thank him for the wine. And for the first time in a long time, I opened the bottle and poured a much taller glass than is socially acceptable.

And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have, too.

…

My flight left at nine Sunday morning, and I’d planned on calling a cab to take me to the airport. When Jeremy showed up at sunrise, I was shocked. He wasn’t exactly a morning person.

“You’re a surprise,” I smiled, hugging him once he stepped inside.

“Yeah, well I’m on my way to church anyway,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d see if you needed a lift.”

“Church huh?” I laughed. “You’re a sweetheart. There’s a suitcase in my room if you want to grab it. I’m just going to slip into some shoes and grab my purse.”

He ran upstairs and I met him in the living room a couple of minutes later. “Let me grab the trash,” he suggested as he walked over to the garbage bin.

“You’re in a good mood,” I said incredulously. “What’s your deal?”

“I’m getting rid of you for two weeks. Why the hell wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

“Oh shut up,” I smiled. “I’ll meet you outside.” I grabbed my purse and wheeled the suitcase behind me, and within a couple of minutes, he was back in the driver’s seat and we were off.

He was strangely silent in comparison to how he’d been moments before, but I didn’t think much of it. He didn’t stay quiet for long, however, and when he spoke I could automatically see what was going on.

“Saw that bottle in the trash can,” he said.

There it was.

“And?”

“And you didn’t invite me to share?”

I smiled. “So I had a few drinks. So what?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “I just thought you quit, that’s all.”

“I had a bad day,” I told him. “You’d have had a drink, too.”

“What happened?”

“I had a date with Jamison. Didn’t go well.”

“He’s still not putting out?”

“It’s not about sex, Jeremy. Not everything is about sex. Sometimes two people need a connection in order to do that. Sometimes they need to be in love. And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”

“So… no?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry. But hey, that was only the second date, right? You know what they say about the third date.”

“There’s not gonna be a third date,” I told him. “He made that explicit. In fact it was the only thing that was explicit about the evening.”

“What happened? I thought you guys really liked each other.”

“We did. Do, I guess. He told me he thinks he loves me.”

“But he won’t sleep with you?”

“Again, Jeremy. It’s not always about that.”

“Yeah, but… you know. You’re hot, he’s hot. You like each other. I would think it would happen.”

I sighed, but I knew that if I could tell anyone the truth, it was Jeremy. “There are complications,” I explained. “He’s got limits. Turns out he’s a real gentleman – like the Bing Crosby type. He said we needed to have a future together in order for us to, you know, do it.”

“And you’re sure you don’t?”

“I want a baby,” I said. “He’s already done that. It’s not a good fit.”

I didn’t have to look at Jeremy to know what his face looked like just then. He was surely doing one of his pouty things, lower lip slightly upturned, mouth pursed to the side, maybe biting the inside of his cheek if he felt especially sorry for me. “You’ll get your baby, Lana. One way or another.”

“Will I, though? I mean, he pointed out that I’ve been in a couple of serious relationships and it still has yet to happen, and maybe he had a point when—”

“Nah, fuck that! So what if you’re not a mom yet? You’re only 30. You’ve got plenty of time!”

“I know. But I always told myself I’d have a baby by the time I was 35 or I wouldn’t have one at all.”

“That still gives you five years,” he told me. “Plenty of time.”

I reclined the seat and leaned back, closing my eyes. “Is it really, though? I mean once you consider how long the approval process is for adoption, and then the waiting list for a baby, and all the red tape and expense of it. And then if I use a surrogate, then I would need to find a womb. And a dude. Well, a dude’s stuff. And shouldn’t I be married first? Or do I really want to be a single mom with a career? Could I even do all that? I’m not the best with multitasking.”

“You’re fine,” he chuckled, rubbing my shoulder with his free hand as we turned the corner. “You’ll know when the time is right, and maybe you’ll be with someone or maybe you won’t. Doesn’t matter. When it’s right for you, that’s all you need.”

“Do you want kids?” I asked.

He was quiet, and if it had been any other ex, this question would have been inappropriate. “I wanted them when I was with you,” he said after a moment.

“Why with me?”

“Because I loved you, and you wanted kids. And I knew you’d be an awesome mom.”

“But you didn’t want them for you?”

I looked over at him before he answered, and he was smiling fondly as if he were remembering something. “Yeah. I used to think I’d be a cool dad.”

“You would be,” I told him without hesitation. “You’d be amazing.”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I don’t think so. I couldn’t even take care of you right, and I was in love with you. How am I gonna treat a kid?”

“You know there was a study done recently,” I said, readjusting to sit upright. “And it said that adult women and newborn children are actually different. I don’t know. Could be speculation – but there might be something in it.”

He pulled into the airport parking lot and shook his head.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re such an asshole,” he laughed.

…

Thank the gods for four-hour flights. Plenty of time for quiet contemplation, and boy, did I take advantage.

Jamison, even in his shaming ways, was helpful somehow. He’d made me think about what I wanted in a way I’d never been confronted into doing in a very long time. Maybe he was wrong about my needing to know right now, and yeah, all the pressure about why I wasn’t married with children by now was annoying. But the truth was, I did have goals. I did have dreams. And even though my career came first, that didn’t mean the other things weren’t important. I did want a baby. Not because I was incomplete without that and not because I felt pressured to do it and not to substitute for the lost love of my own mother. I wanted a child because I wanted to know that feeling of having a piece of your heart on the outside, of raising someone to love the way you know love should be given, to have someone to share my life with in a more permanent way than a spouse could offer. I’d always wanted to be a mom.

And now was the time.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s hard coming home after such a long time away. You know how when you visit someone’s home, it has its own distinct scent? It’s not a smell you can name or pinpoint or describe, it’s just… that person’s home. Well I realized when I got back that my home had that too. And it wasn’t nearly as pleasant as I’d hoped it would be.

Bartholomew greeted me at the door, his fluffy tail – the only fluffy part of him at all – raised high into the air and his motor-like purr vibrating against me when he nuzzled my leg. God, I’d missed him. Him and his weird obsession with me. Cats aren’t supposed to care about people, and that’s why I’ve always trusted them. But Bart was more like a dog. Course, I’d never tell him that. He might be insulted.

I spent my first full day there unpacking and remembering home, cleaning up the very few dishes Kate had left while she visited to take care of Bart. I knew it would take some time getting used to, but it was a good thing that I was doing. I knew that. I was sure. I mean it had to be. Right?

It was almost amazing to me how quickly I was able to put everything back in its place. I’d even run down to the laundry room and washed my clothes. I checked my DVR for the shows I’d missed, which was a pointless endeavor since I’d long ago run out of room. The only shows still left were about thirty-five episodes of The Late, Late Show, half a dozen reruns of The Office, and some TCM movies. You know, for late nights of drinking and crying that I had apparently planned on before I’d left.

And I figured that I might as well start on those.

At the end of the night, I went to take my shower. I pulled back the curtain, and immediately it occurred to me just what an idiot I was. My shampoo and conditioner, my soap and my loofah, and even my toothpaste were all on the left side of the shower. I didn’t even brush my teeth in the shower a year ago. And I definitely wasn’t a lefty.

I’d left these things like this since he left, and I’d never even noticed.

Now, I suppose the sensible thing to do would have been to put everything back on the right side and my toothbrush back in its place. The sensible thing would have been to do then what I’m doing now – acknowledging I was still a little stuck on the guy and decide to get on with my life.

But no.

I stepped inside and let the water run over me. I usually waited until the water ran warm until I stepped in, but this time I didn’t care. The cold was a welcomed shock to keep me from thinking on the left side of my shower too long. But within a minute, the water was warm, and there I was thinking about… the left side of my shower.

Twice he’d fucked my up against those cracked white tiles. Once he held my hair back at that toilet beside while I puked my guts out with the flu. It had ruined our weekend. There was one day that I woke up with a swollen eye and he told me I was still cute. Gross but cute, he said. And he’d said it in this room. In a bathroom. My bathroom. If you’d told me a year ago that I would have had some of my best memories with the love of my life in my bathroom I’d have told you that was crazy.

I used to shower facing the stream, but ever since Jeremy I’d turned my back to it. That’s just how we’d ended up somehow. We’d had so little time together here, but it changed everything. How did one man have so much power over my habits? Did he actually have the power, though? Or was it that I didn’t want things to change?

I sat down and propped my head in my hands. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t being the cliché Jeremy would have teased me for being. I was just… thinking. Thinking about life. Thinking about babies. Thinking about Jeremy.

When I went to my room, I lay in my bed for almost an hour staring at my ceiling. I had absolutely nothing to do between then and when I left except pack, and I couldn’t do that now. Still, I was wide awake. And it was nearly one in the morning.

To: Sweet Cheeks

Sent: 12:52AM

Are you awake?

.

Received: 12:55AM

Yup

.

Sent: 1:00AM

I don’t like it here.

.

Received: 1:03AM

Wanna talk about it?

.

Sent: 1:10AM

I don’t know. 

.

Sent: 1:11AM 

Yeah, I guess.

Not even ten seconds later, he was calling me.

“Hey,” I answered. “You didn’t have to call.”

“Yeah I did. You needed me.”

I sighed loud enough for him to hear me, but he didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago that in situations like this, it was best to let me speak first.

“I feel so incomplete,” I complained. “I feel so empty and alone and useless, and like I need—”

“Stop right there,” he told me quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not useless or empty or any of that crap, okay? You’re just in a bad mood because you’re going through a huge change right now.”

“Who told you about my menopause?”

He laughed on the other end. “God, I miss you, Lana. I shoulda come back with you and given you a hand.”

“Yeah!” I scoffed. “Like you’d have done that!”

“I would have!” he insisted, and something in his voice certainly seemed genuine. “I’m not doing anything all week. I have to be in Monaco next Monday, but I’m free ‘til then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. I was a little angry, a little happy, a little… sorry that he hadn’t volunteered to help.

“I was hoping you’d ask me to come with,” he said. “I had my bags packed and everything. I really, really thought you’d ask me to come.”

“Come now!”

“I can’t come now.”

“Yes you can!”

“No I can’t. I promised Scarlett I’d have lunch with her tomorrow.”

“Come after lunch!”

“That gives me, what? Three days with you? And what do I do that whole time? I mean, how much of that place can you pack in just three days?”

“Twice as much as I’d pack by myself.”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t know,” he spoke finally. “Maybe after Monaco if I have time. I’m doing a photo shoot, but I’m not sure what else I have to do. We’ll see.”

He might as well have just said no at that point. Same thing.

“Probably for the best anyway,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

I was fucking blushing like a pathetic junior high girl. “You know… we probably wouldn’t pack as much as we fucked.”

“I feel like there’s a joke there… something about packing and sex and… I don’t know. Usually I could think of something clever.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I’m tired.”

“When has that ever stopped you from making dirty jokes?”

He was quiet, and for a second I thought maybe our call disconnected. “Hello?”

“I’m here,” he answered.

“You’re so quiet.”

“Sorry I guess. You don’t usually complain when I’m not talking.”

“You’re not usually the shutting up type.”

And then the silence was back. There was some sort of faint sound in the background – like maybe he had a TV on or something – so I knew he was there. For whatever reason, he was quiet, and this time I decided to wait for him.

And wait I did. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two. I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. And just when I was about to hang up, I heard him.

“I really did care about her, you know.”

I nodded, but soon remembered he couldn’t see me. “I know.”

“I wasn’t in love with her, but I cared about her. I might have married her eventually, you know. I might have. I just… it wasn’t going to happen as fast as she wanted.”

“She cheated on you, Jeremy. Stop feeling sorry for her.”

“She deserved honesty. I should have told her what was going on with me. I shouldn’t have lied and told her I was in love with her.”

“Yeah,” I answered in a sigh. “You should have been honest. But she shouldn’t have cheated. Let’s just say you both fucked up and the whole thing was doomed from the start, and we’ll move on, okay?”

“No,” he answered right away. “Not okay.”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“Just tell me honestly that I’m not a horrible person, okay?”

“You’re not a horrible person, okay? Honestly.”

“Lana, come on! I’m serious!”

“So am I, Jeremy! You’re not a horrible person. You’re one of the sweetest, most genuine—”

“Oh, cut the shit! Tell me the fucking truth, okay?”

“That is the truth! I mean, yeah… you can be kind of an asshole sometimes, and you’re not great at asserting yourself. You’re selfish at the absolute worst times and you’re picky about the dumbest crap and you’re terrible at time management. You work way too hard and don’t know how to sort your priorities and you never, ever say “I love you” without being coaxed into it, but other than that…”

“Thanks, Lana. Big help.”

“Look, just relax. You’re hot and you’re rich and you’re a guy. You’ll be just fine.”

I heard a little laugh on the other end. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” I said. “But you know, this needs to stop.”

“What does?”

“This. This flirting.”

“I’m not flirting.”

“Yes you are.”

He was silent again.  
“You know you are,” I said. “You’re not even going to deny it anymore.”

“I just…” he started. “I miss you so much. Yeah, I’m flirting. But you’re flirting back.”

“Because you’re fun to flirt with.”

“But nothing’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t think so,” I answered much faster than I thought I would have. “We sucked together.”

“If my memory serves me, you suck pretty damn good.”

I shook my head and reddened and god, he was such an ass. But I was horny and he was all I had.

“You weren’t so bad yourself at what you did.”

“You’re gonna make me blush, Lana,” he giggled.

“Are you alone? Where are you?”

“I’m home. Just me.”

“Wanna have some fun?”

“You think that’s really a good idea?”

Now I was the silent one.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asked.

“Not particularly. Not at one in the morning. Not when I haven’t been fucked in way too long.”

“It’s been, what? Couple weeks?”

“Seems longer.”

“I shoulda come with you,” he said. “I’d be taking care of that problem.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowered, as did the volume of whatever was going on in the background. “Yeah.”

“What would you do?”

“You’re in your bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re lying on your stomach, aren’t you? Because that’s how you sleep.”

“Yeah I am.”

“And you’re naked?”

I was wearing my band tee and underwear, but close enough. “Yeah.”

“I’d have you just like that, my hands sliding over your body while I kiss your neck.”

At first, it sounded wonderful. Then suddenly… very ticklish. I laughed. God, I was ruining this.

“You’re thinking about my beard on your neck, aren’t you?” he asked.  
“Yes!” I laughed. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it!”

“Good, ‘cause that’s what I wanted to give you. A good… tickle.”

“I swear to god I’m trying to be sexy right now,” I said, starting to settle down a little. “Go on. Tell me what else you’d do.”

“Well as I was saying,” he continued, and I could still hear that tone in his voice of this-is-ridiculous. “I would stick one finger inside you while my other hand moves along your side. I’d touch every inch of you, taste your skin, kiss you all over.”

“Jeremy…”

“Lana…”  
“No, seriously. Jeremy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” I said. “It’s weird. I miss you, and if you’re not actually fucking me, it’s not worth it.”

“Well I’m still gonna do it.”

“Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

I could almost hear his smile. “Talk to me.”

“I told you I can’t.”

“No, not like that. Just talk to me. Tell me about your day. About your flight. About Bart. Whatever.”

“You’re gonna jack off while I talk to you about my cat?”

“It’s just friction, Lana.”

“Uh, okay. My apartment smells like onions.”

“I told you it did and you didn’t believe me.”  
“Well I can smell it now,” I said. “And Bart missed me. I think he lost weight or something. He’s acting weird.”

“He missed his mama.”

“I guess. Kate’s been looking after him. You remember I told you about Kate? She’s my neighbor in the basement. Anyway, She’s been coming up here every day and feeding him. I told her she could make herself at home, but all she left around was a couple of glasses and she didn’t even touch the ice cream I bought for her. Should I be offended or should I be glad that she didn’t make a mess? I mean, I don’t know.”

“Uh huh.”

“I emailed my boss here at the news station and told him I was leaving. I scheduled the shipment of my stuff and I started looking for apartments. I think I might actually live in LA, although if I go to Simi Valley, there’s a lot more available. It’ll be a little bit of a commute, but I think it’ll work. I’ll get a Prius or something. Well you know more than me about real estate. What do you think?”

“Uh… yeah. Simi Valley could work. Could be… good for you.”  
“Should I get a house, or is that too big a commitment? I mean, I’m sending my stuff to your place for when I first get there, but after. Should I get a house? Is it worth the investment if the show doesn’t get picked up or something happens and I have to leave?”

Before I’d quite finished my sentence I could hear a muffled sort of breathing. Something along the lines of Big-Bad-Wolfese, and I knew what was going on.

“Better now?” I asked.  
“Fuck, I just got come on my phone.”

“Impressive. Did you hear a word of what I said?”

He exhaled sharply and it sounded like he fumbled around on the other end there for a second. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take you around and show you what it’s like out here. I can’t really tell just from this conversation if you’re getting a good deal.”

“I’m holding you to that, Ren.”

“You should.”

Truth is, I wanted to stay on the phone forever. I wanted to talk to him about nonsense and tell him everything about everything, but that wasn’t his job anymore. Listening, I mean.

“I guess I should let you go now,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re done,” I told him as if he didn’t know. “You’re gonna sleep now, right?”

“God, that makes me feel confident in my skills. Just fuck and fall asleep, huh?”

“Most nights, yes. You know that’s true.”

“Yeah, well… to be fair, though, you fell asleep right after, too.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Well you should have. I was good.”  
“Yes you were. That’s why I didn’t sleep.”

He let out a little sound of some sort or other – it’s hard to tell these kinds of specifics over the phone – and he spoke again. “You’re doing a brave thing, you know that? You’re moving on finally after everything you went through with your grandmother’s death and all.”

“I hope so.”

“You are. I’m proud of you.”  
I didn’t even know I was crying until I felt the unwelcomed tickle in my ear. “I miss her, Jeremy.”

“I know you do, babe. I’m sorry.”

“I feel like moving away means throwing that last shovel of dirt in her grave, you know? And I don’t want to do that.”

“You’re moving on,” he said. “There’s a difference. I mean, I didn’t know her for long, but I know all she did was for you. Everything she ever wanted was for you to be happy, and as long as all of this makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”

“I’ve never lived anywhere else. It’s gonna be hard.”

“I know. But you’ve got friends.”

“Plural?”

“You’ve got friend, then,” he chuckled. “You’ve got me.”

“Yeah. And you won’t even come out here to help me.”

“Don’t you dare, Lana. You had your chance.”

“Jerk.”

“Asshole.”

I smiled and looked over to the clock, not at all surprised we’d been talking for an hour. “I should really get some sleep,” I told him. “Thanks for talking.”

“Any time. And hey – keep a stiff upper lip, okay? You’re great, you’re doing great, and you’ll be fine. You got this.”

“I hope so.”

“Night-night, Banana.”

“Night-night, Ren. See ya when I see ya.”

I hung up and went back to my previous state of simply lying in bed staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t so much leaving Chicago that had kept me up lately. It was the thought of that next huge step in my life. God, I wanted a baby. But I’d long ago looked into what adoption entails. I looked into it even before I’d ever met Jeremy, just out of curiosity. You could expect to wait anywhere from two to five years for a kid, and even then there’s so much legal stuff and red tape. Adoption to me was a better option for stable families with time to plan and who have no doubt they’ll get approved. I was single and young and still not sure what my address would be. If I were head of placement at an agency, I would never approve me.

Surrogacy was another option. Well, it was sort of my only other option. But even then I needed to be sure my eggs were viable, that I had a surrogate willing to devote nearly a year of her life to getting artificially knocked up, being pregnant, giving birth, and recovering, that I had a guy’s sperm, and that I really was ready to raise a child. And of course the monetary costs.

If I could have it my way, I would have had a baby with Jeremy. I mean, we would have been together longer and gotten married and then had a baby. You know, the traditional way. But he and I weren’t meant for each other, and yeah if everything had worked the “traditional way” it would have been fun. But for how long? And did I really want to have Jeremy’s baby?

Yes. God, yes.

And maybe it was a stupid thing to think about at two in the morning. Maybe it was jetlag and high-caffeine foods and drinks doing it to me. But suddenly I realized that I didn’t have to be married to Jeremy, or even be with him. I could still have a baby with him if he wanted to. And at two in the morning, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

In the morning, though, it was a ridiculous thought. Why would he ever want that?

I’d started packing my living room, as this was where the things I used least were. It was books and pictures and board games no one ever played with me mostly, then the guitar my uncle had left me. The guitar Jeremy had played Never My Love on when he and Gramma first met. A guitar I could hear him fiddling with some mornings before I woke. But I packed it away in its case because I didn’t play. Jeremy never taught me even though he said he would.

God, I needed to stop thinking about that fucker.

I felt pretty good about my progress actually. In one corner of the room I had a box of things for the move. In another corner, things to donate. And finally about three trash cans full of crap that no one in their right mind would ever want. I was just about to check this room off my list when my doorbell buzzed.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

“Jeremy! You mother fucker!”

He’d come. Holy fucking shit, that asshole had come. And I couldn’t have been more grateful for anything.


	11. Chapter 11

I was all smiles and a touch of confusion as I waited at the top of the stairs. There he came bouncing up, sneakily shining a grin my direction as he rounded the corner. “What the hell, dude?” I smiled, rushing to him. I grabbed the suitcase from his hand – he’d made it look much lighter than it was – and wheeled it behind me before I threw my arms around him and squeezed as tightly as I could.

“Scarlett understood when I explained I couldn’t make lunch,” he told me, kissing my cheek. “You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a year or something. It’s only been a day.”

I rolled my eyes and wheeled the case inside my apartment. “But it’s been forever since you’ve been here,” I pointed out. “It’s awesome. And kinda weird.”

“I’m here to help,” he said. He walked over to the couch and sat where he always used to sit. “You already packed the guitar?”

“Yeah. It was just collecting dust.”

“I still have to teach you to play, don’t I?”

I nodded. “Want coffee? I just made some. And by ‘Just made some,’ I mean it’s from this morning, but I can brew a new pot.”

“That’d be awesome,” he laughed. “Looks like you’ve done the brunt of it around here,” he said as he looked around. “Maybe this was all for nothing.”

“Oh no,” I called from the adjoining kitchen. “I’ve still got all the other rooms, then I have to clean, patch the holes, and paint. This is a huge job.”

“Well why don’t I start in here since it’s more or less packed. I can clean and patch and all that. I could just kinda follow you around the place like that, just painting and cleaning up behind you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I smiled. I walked toward him and sat beside, and immediately his arm was around me. “I warned you about this,” I said. “I told you we wouldn’t clean as much as we’d… you know.”

“I literally just put my arm around you! It’s not like I’m fingering you.”

I’m not saying I didn’t want to fuck him. Lord knows I did. But not now. If we did it now, it would seem like he came all this way just to do me.

And I wasn’t sure if that was extremely romantic or extremely desperate.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said, tucking my legs under me. “The coffee will be ready in a second. I’ll make you a cup, then you’ll change, then you’ll clean and patch, et cetera, et cetera. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“And then when it gets late, you’ll sleep in my bed.”

“Okay…”

“But first you’ll fuck me. And before that we’ll shower because, well… ew.”

He just sort of stared at me at that point.

“Got it?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “Yep.”

“Good,” I answered. I walked to the kitchen and made his coffee, bringing it to him with his two sugars, and heading to the hall closet to start packing there. “Cleaning supplies are on the table, spackle’s on the counter, and paint’s in the bathroom. Whenever you’re ready.”

For a long time, I was so proud of myself. I was actually packing and actually ignoring him (more or less) and actually not talking. We were cleaning out my apartment. It was all so… domestic.

“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking,” he said after maybe three hours of near complete silence. “Where was Gramma buried?”

“Holy Sepulcher,” I responded. “Why do you ask?”

He was quiet again for a while, and he set the scraper of spackle back in the bucket before he approached me. “I thought maybe… you know, while we’re up here… maybe I should pay my respects.”

I have to admit I was a little confused. Not because he was making such a sweet proposal, but because I actually believed he wanted to do that. “Okay,” I nodded. “I’ll take you tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to take me,” he said. “I’m not gonna make you do that.”

“Yeah, but I kinda want to say goodbye anyway. It might be easier for me if you come along.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

And then we were back to it. No more words for another hour. Nothing until I ran the shower in order to rinse out the tub I’d just rinsed off bins in. And then suddenly he was behind me taking his clothes off.

“I’m not showering!” I laughed. “I’m rinsing stuff. Oh my god! A little eager are we?”

He’ll never admit he was blushing, but he was. “Honest mistake.”

But seeing him in his ripped jeans with drips of white paint and the spackle still under his fingernails, I couldn’t resist. “Ah, we’ve put in a good day’s work, right? What the hell?”

His stupid lopsided grin flashed at me and he had me in his arms immediately. “I did good?”

“You did good,” I answered.

You know, it’s kinda funny. We never discussed being in any kind of relationship. We didn’t talk about having sex. We just sort of happened into it. It was like it didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always be together. Sometimes as friends. Sometimes as lovers. But always together.

His hand was tugging at the curls on the back of my head while his other arm wrapped around me. He grazed over my hip and cupped my ever-growing ass in a way he couldn’t back when we were dating – it was too small then. His lips were on mine, but only briefly. Mostly they were on my cheek and jaw, then soon on my neck. I would have done anything with him now. Anything at all. I was at his mercy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Not until after,” I insisted even though neither of us wanted to wait. “You promised.”

“Not until after,” he agreed, repeating me like he always did. “You first, then.”

I stripped off my shirt and bra, then shimmied out of my pants and underwear. It was sloppy and not at all sexy, but I was standing under the shower stream for a good minute while he just watched me. He watched with a smile of almost admiration. He pulled down his boxer briefs and joined me finally, and immediately his arms were around me.

He just held me there. He wasn’t trying to have sex – he wasn’t even hard. He was just holding me, and I held him back, and I wanted to cry and I wasn’t sure why.

“You haven’t touched my shampoo since I left, have you?” he asked.

I shook my head, still cuddled against him.

“You should have thrown it out,” he said.

I nodded.

His arms wrapped tighter around me and he swayed me side-to-side just very slightly. “I’m really glad you moved on,” he whispered with a hint of that silly little laugh.

I closed my eyes but remained otherwise motionless.

“Do you ever…” he stopped midsentence, and only when he continued did I understand why. “Do you ever wish we’d never broken up?”

The tiniest of tears left my eye and my arms reached around his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Well that’s alright,” he replied, equally silent. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“What about you?” I mumbled. “Do you wish it?”

“Of all the uncertainties in the world, Lana Fillmore, the question of my feelings for you isn’t one. If I could change any one thing in my life, it would be our past.”

“For how long, though? Until you find a new redhead?”

“There’s a difference between being in love and being in the right relationship. You and me? We’re fucked. But we’re in love. You see what I mean?”

“You think I’m in love with you?” I scoffed.

“I think we both love each other. Okay, maybe we’re not in love, but we have love. We care about each other and we—”

“Aren’t having this conversation,” I finished. “We’re friends – best friends, maybe. But we’re never going to be right together.”

I could feel him nodding, but I was still tucked against him. “Such a shame,” he groaned, the vibration of his voice seeming to ring through my entire body. “The sex was incredible.”

“You’ll have to remind me,” I laughed, finally looking up at him.

He bent slightly forward to kiss me. My arms were now hooked under his, my hands on his back, my nails digging maybe a little too hard into his skin. He cringed a little, but it was accompanied by a smile. I could keep going like this. I had his approval.

I stepped one foot to the side of the tub and hoisted myself up, quickly moving my arms around his neck and hopping onto him. I wrapped my legs around his body and tugged at the back of his wet hair, which was still long enough for a good handful. He opened his mouth and took me over. There we were, pulling each other’s hair and entangling our bodies and falling into those old, familiar ways of ours.

I moved my lips to his ear and sucked on his lobe as his hands found my ass, which, it seemed, was his new favorite part of me. He backed me against the tiles, and there was a sort of shock in the chill, but god, it was worth it. “Fuck me,” I told him. “Now.”

His hand moved to hold my jaw in place as he kissed me again. Like it was going somewhere or something. His other hand guided his cock into me while his entire body had me pinned there. When I felt him, I immediately braced myself, and he never stopped kissing me for the entire time he was pounding me into that wall.

When he stopped suddenly, I worried something was wrong. He’d changed his mind or… I don’t know. Something. He pulled out, but he kept me there, and his tongue licked a line down my body until his lips were underneath me.

Oh…

My legs were now spread to either side of the tub thanks to his urging them that way, and his mouth was tasting between my legs. His tongue flicked rapidly over my clit and my hand grabbed his hair again.

“Oh my god! Don’t stop!”

One of his hands braced my ankle in place while the other traveled to assist his mouth in fucking the ever-loving hell out of me. Two fingers pumped easily inside, twisting and exploring their way around as his tongue continued to do what it did best. Maybe the shower stream over us made it better. Maybe the cold air flowing inside from between the curtain and the wall had something to do with my nipples hardening and my body tensing to note every singular sensation. Or maybe he was just that good.

“I’m gonna come!” I shouted, doing just that before I had a chance to finish. He rubbed my clit throughout the ecstasy I felt and smiled up at me with his lip-biting way. What a fucking asshole…

Then he continued where he’d left off, pinning me to that wall and fucking me silly. During it all, I focused on his eyes, the way they continued to look at me. He always did that – always needed to maintain that eye contact when we had sex. At first, to be honest, it freaked me out a little. But I’d grown to crave it, too. I’d grown to love it. To need it.

When he closed his eyes and buried his face in my neck, I knew what was about to happen. I purposely clenched around him as he came with a final, strong thrust, and my legs wrapped tighter around him. I closed my eyes and he lowered me down the wall slowly. And soon we were just standing and catching our breath and he was smiling again. God, I loved that smile.

“You alright?” he asked.

I nodded and kissed his cheek, answering that yes, of course I was. Why wouldn’t I be?

“You’re crying,” he said.

“No I’m not,” I replied. “You are!”

“Lana, I’m serious. You’re crying.”

God, I was, wasn’t I? “That’s the shower water.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Ha! You wish!”

“Babe, I’m serious. Tell me.”

“No, you didn’t hurt me. I’m just… I don’t know.” And I didn’t. Seriously, I had no clue.

“We should probably take a real shower now,” he chuckled.

He was right, and we did. We argued over whose turn it was to use the soap and we giggled and we touched each other a lot more than we had to. And when we were done, we wrapped ourselves in towels and moved to the bedroom.

He pulled on some underwear and I threw on a t-shirt, and we tucked ourselves in. I moved to his side of the bed and snuggled against him. It had been so long…

And yes, I know. There was a good reason for that.

“Night,” he mumbled.

I looked at his closed eyes and reached to turn out the light. “Jer, wait,” I said. “Before you go to sleep, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Well I know that I can move on after this. I mean, I can go back and pretend this never happened, or at least that it doesn’t mean anything, no problem. Are you able to do that?”

“Of course,” he said in a gruff sort of way, almost as if I was annoying him with my question. “It’s just sex.”

“But you said… well… the other day, you said you knew you didn’t break me, but that I broke you, and I just don’t want—”

“Oh that?” he interrupted, forcing a laugh that even he wasn’t a good enough actor to make sound genuine. “I was just talking, Lana.”

“So I didn’t break your heart?”

He was quiet, but he turned on his side to face me before he spoke. “Yeah,” he sort of shrugged. “But it’s nothing I couldn’t eventually recover from.”

“We’re still friends, then?”

He grinned and pulled my hand up with his own, sticking out his pinky. “As you know, I’m shit when it comes to promises. But I know I can promise you one thing for sure. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Lana. You’re the only person I’m not related to who actually likes me the way I am. If I didn’t have you, I’d hate myself so much. I promise you’ll always be my friend, even if it’s for just that reason alone.”

“You?” I asked skeptically, granting him his pinky promise. “You would hate yourself?”

He nodded, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. “You made me want to change, but you never asked me to. And that was when I told myself you were a keeper.”

“And now that I’m moving out by you, what’s keeping us from dating?”

He sighed. “The fact that you’ll always have something you love more than you love me, and the fact that I’m too selfish to be okay with that.”

“And what do I love more than you?”

He closed his eyes again and rolled to his back. “Your job.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, of course not. You should want to make something of yourself. You should want to be the best of the best. And when you find the perfect guy, he’ll want that for you and he won’t care if it comes first. But like I said, I’m too selfish. I know that if you became this amazing fashion designer, which you inevitably will, if you’re offered a life in, like, Paris or Milan, you’ll go. No hesitation. I wasn’t so sure before you took the job in California, but I know that if you’ll leave Chicago, you’ll go anywhere. You’ll move to the place that gives you the best opportunity. You should. Again, it’s not a bad thing.”

“But…?”

“But,” he sighed, “I will live in California for the rest of my life. And I won’t go anywhere. Like you, my job is my life. And for us, that means that even if we dated now, we’d eventually break up, just like we did last time. So the way I see it, we take advantage of the good stuff, but we leave the relationship out of it. You’re a fan of crappy movies, Lana. You know that those relationships don’t go well.”

“So why are we doing the sex-without-commitment thing if we know it isn’t going to work?”

“Because it’s fun,” he smiled.

And he was right.

Fuck.

He was right


	12. Chapter 12

“No, no, no, I said you wrap the dishes twice, you idiot!”

“I’m gonna throw this dish at your head in a second.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” I laughed. “You’d never do that.”

“Wanna see me try?” He asked. And before he’d finished asking, he was already pinning me to the floor pretending to smash the dish over my head. I put up a fake struggle. He kissed me.

Cliché.

“I don’t want to go,” I said quietly. “I mean, I do but I don’t. You know?”

“It’s a big step,” he nodded as he rolled off of me and gradually made his way back to the kitchen cabinet. “But you’ll like it out west.”

“What exactly will I like about it?”

“Well, the weather for one. The culture. The fashion.”

“I hate the heat and I have the other two things here,” I said. “Plus more.”

“I’m there,” he gave his go-to answer.

“Yes, we’ve covered that.”

“How about the fact that you’ve packed up your entire life over the past week and it would be too hard to put it all back? That should count as some sort of motivation.”

And it did. Jeremy had been here almost a week now, and he’d helped me do just about everything I thought I would have to do alone in twice the time. “You’re a pain in the ass, Renner,” I told him sincerely. “Here I am trying to have a breakdown and there you are trying to prevent it. Can’t you just let me have my fun?”

“Nope.”

I smiled over at him and returned to sweeping off my little balcony. I could feel him looking at me every now and then, but I pretended to ignore it. I guessed he was actually, genuinely concerned I’d get cold feet.

Poor guy.

“You know, we haven’t left this place since I’ve been here,” he said finally.

“No, you haven’t left. I left yesterday for lunch.”

“Okay,” he smirked. “I haven’t left. But I have to leave Saturday to go home, and I want to do something fun first. What do you say?”

“Like what?”

“Well maybe we could go into the city? I don’t know… Signature Room, Skydeck, Brookfield, gyros. All the touristy stuff we never got around to doing.”

I probably should have said no, but then I wasn’t saying no to very much with him lately. “We’ll visit Gramma first,” I said. “Then we’ll do all that stuff.”

“Sounds good. I wasn’t going to bring it up, you know, once I started suggesting we do something fun. Seemed inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. So that’s what you want to do tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “For sure.”

I stepped inside and walked over to him, reaching my arms out to hug him. But as soon as I held him, I felt something. Something I’d only felt a handful of times before in my life.

Nausea.

“Hold up…” I told him, holding one finger up. “Wait… Nope…” I rushed to the bathroom and lifted the lid of the toilet barely in time.

He hurried in behind me and held back my hair, rubbing my back. “Oh my god! What the hell?”

I was hyperventilating because the puking sort of took it out of me, but within a minute I could answer. “I don’t know!”

He caressed my shoulder and handed me a washcloth for my face. “All done?”

I had to think, but not for long. “Nope.” I leaned forward and puked again, and then another time until I was sure I had returned every meal I’ve eaten since 1989.

“So maybe we don’t go anywhere tomorrow,” he said. “I mean, I’m not a doctor, but it looks like you’ve got the flu.”

I stood and moved to the sink, promptly rinsing my mouth and grabbing my toothbrush. “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t really think I was sick. It just sort of happened.”

He fumbled around the basket on the back of the toilet until he found a ponytail holder, and he sloppily tied my hair back away from my face while I brushed my teeth. “I’ll go out and get you some tea and chicken noodle soup and Sprite, okay? How does that sound?”

“No, you can’t do that. You can’t go out. What if you’re recognized?”

“No one’s gonna recognize me.”

“Sure they are! And David and Sue are already giving you shit about coming out here. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got ramen noodles and expired Nesquik in your cabinets, Lana. That’s it. You need food. No wonder you’re throwing up!”

“I’ll send Kate,” I said. “She runs errands for me all the time. She won’t mind.”

“Kate?”

“My downstairs neighbor,” I said. “Get my phone for me, will you?”

He did, and I finished brushing my teeth and texting Kate, and she was up within just a couple of minutes as always. I had Jeremy answer the door (as I was a little lightheaded), and when she saw him, she went from her usual bubbly, talkative self to a church mouse.

“Jeremy, Kate. Kate, Jeremy,” I said quickly. “Get in here, kiddo.”

She stepped inside, still silent as she stared. She knew I’d dated him, but she had no idea he’d ever come here. Why would she? Why would anyone?

“Yes,” I told her. “It’s the Jeremy. Look, I need you to do me a favor, babe. You don’t mind, do you?”

She finally took her eyes off of him long enough to look at me. “Course not, no,” she answered in her trembling voice. The realization had finally hit her full force and now she was smiling and turning as red as a cherry. “Oh my god, I love you.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jeremy responded. “I’m sure you’re great, too. I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh my god, look, I just need a couple things,” I said, scribbling out a list in frustration. “And I’m trusting you’ll be discreet about everything?”

“I will, I promise,” She answered. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little sick,” I told her. “I want to feel better by tomorrow, so I’m trying to get my strength up.”

She looked over the list and back at me with widened eyes. “Lana, I…”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just the flu, so you probably shouldn’t get too close to me.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay. Okay, fine. I’ll get everything. Be right back.” She looked over at Jeremy and extended her hand. “Oh my god, it was so nice meeting you!”

“You too,” he smiled, shaking her hand. “And thank you.”

She was too flustered to answer, so she left.

He looked over at me and smiled, and I did the same. “She’s a little bit star-struck, I think.”

He sat beside me on the sofa and threw his arm around me. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” I answered. “Actually, I’m not even sick anymore. Thirsty, though… could you get me a water?”

“Not sick anymore?” He started toward the fridge. “What are you talking about?”

“I would love a steak right about now. A nice New York strip.”

“You’re just hungry from puking your guts out. Relax. Why don’t you go get your jammies on and get in bed?”

“Because I don’t want to. I told you, I’m really not sick.”

“Fine.” He shook his head and leaned back, still holding me. “So what’s with Kate?”

“You’re not allowed to sleep with her.”

“What? No! I wasn’t talking about that!”

“Oh.”

“No, I mean… like, why is she always at your beck and call? Running errands for you? You didn’t even give her money for the stuff you needed.”

“Because she has one of my credit cards,” I said. “I gave her one to use.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”  
“I’m curious.”

I sighed and readjusted to lie on the couch with my legs propped in his lap. “I help her out,” I said. “She knew Gramma. Actually, she worked with her, and I’ve known her since she was, like, sixteen. A few months ago, she moved out of her house, and she needed help, and I helped her. That’s basically it.”

“But why do you help her? I don’t understand.”

“Because…” I didn’t really want to share details of Kate’s life that she didn’t wish to have shared, but I knew he wasn’t going to shut up about it. Also, never tell me secrets. I’m the worst at keeping them. “She was in a relationship. A bad one. The only reason she wasn’t leaving him was that he was supporting her, and she didn’t think she could afford to live alone. When I talked to her about it, I told her there was a vacancy here, and that I would help her for as long as she would let me.”

“So you’re supporting her just because she was in a bad relationship?”

“All it costs me is money. It’s worth it.”

“You’re a good guy, you know that?” He smiled.

“I thought I was an asshole.”

“Sometimes you are,” he winked. Bastard.

He stayed with me like that for another several minutes until Kate returned, and I met her at the door. “Thanks, dude,” I said, hugging her close. “I’m so glad I have you to keep secrets with.”

Jeremy smiled at me, and I cast him one of those “shut the fuck up, smartass” looks, because we had those. “Gimme,” he said, gesturing to the grocery bag. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“No, you said you were hungry. Soup it is.”  
“No. Seriously.”

He reached for the bag and pulled it toward him. “Come on, what’s your deal?”

“Jeremy!”

“Fine!” he gave in, and I could sense the anger in his tone. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but fine. Do you want me to put it in the cabinet, then, or leave it out so we don’t leave it behind?”

“Um. Neither. I’ll… take it to my room.”

“You’re going to take a can of chicken soup and a bottle of Sprite to your room.”

“Yes. I am. Problem?”

“You’re being weird, Lana. What else is in that bag?”

I tried to think of what I could say convincingly. “Crackers.”

“And?”

“And… tea.”

“Lana.”

“And a… um… pregnancy test.”

All those little wrinkles in his face straightened out and his tan seemed to instantly fade as he sat back down. “You’re kidding, right?” And I could tell by the way he asked that he knew I wasn’t. I never kid about that kind of thing.

“I haven’t had my period in a really long time, and now this. I just want to be sure.”

“But you can’t… you said…”  
“I know I can’t. I mean, I technically can’t. But all the parts are there, right? Things happen.”  
“No, Lana, you told me you can’t get pregnant.”

“I know I did. I know I can’t. I just want to make sure.”

He sort of just fell back and his mouth hung open. “What are you hoping?”

“I’m hoping… I don’t know. This has never been a thought.”

“You probably just have the flu,” he said again. “And you always miss your periods, don’t you? Isn’t that part of your condition?”

“Yeah, but… like, I can’t even remember the last time I had mine. That’s how long it’s been. I don’t think it’s ever been this long before.”

I think he was trying to think of something to say. So was I. But instead he just sat there, and I took the test into the bathroom.

Now the frustrating thing about pregnancy tests, apparently, is that they’re crap if you get an inconclusive answer. Like, half a line? What is that? What was this fucking half a line staring at me? I’d been holding in my pee for thirty minutes for a fucking half line?

I expected Jeremy to at least check in on me, but there I was sitting on my toilet for about ten minutes with no disturbance at all except this fucking half line in front of me. Obviously I wasn’t going to get an answer from this piece of shit, so I tossed it into the trash and stormed out.

“Well?”

I threw my hand in the air and looked at him with as much intensity as I could muster. “What do you mean ‘Well’?”

“What did it say?” he asked.

“I don’t know! Apparently I’m half pregnant!”

“What?”

“I don’t know!” I walked back into my room.

He followed behind me and watched as I slipped into my easiest flats. “Lana, what are you talking about?”

“I’m going down to the women’s clinic. They’ll do a real test for free.”

“So the one you took?”

“Half a line, Jeremy! Half a line!”

“Well that’s some bullshit,” he mumbled. “Okay, let me get my shoes.”

“No, you’re not coming. I couldn’t even let you go to the grocery store! You think I can bring you to a women’s clinic?”

“Lana, I wanna be there.”

“I know you do.” I settled into my shoes and took a moment to breathe. “I know. And I really wish I could bring you. But… I need to do this on my own. Just stay here and… I don’t know. Watch TV.”

…

He was on the couch when I returned. Immediately, he sat upright and faced me, flipping off HGTV and waiting for me to move over by him.

“Jeremy…”

“No, look. I’m here for you, okay? Whatever’s going on, I’m here for you. I promise.”

“I know.”

He reached for my hands and held them both up to his mouth to kiss them. “So?”

“I’m not pregnant,” I said. “Still barren as ever. Still completely hopeless.”

“Lana, come on. Don’t say that.”

“Sorry. Probably bringing you down, huh?”

He reached forward and hugged me. His arms were so strong and so warm and so… beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. But that part you already know.

“Look,” I started, wiping a tear from my eye and moving away from him. “I’m going to make a few phone calls, okay? I just want to talk to some people, and I need to be alone. Can you run a bath for me?”

“Of course.”

I kissed his cheek and took my phone outside. I called Scarlett first, then Mary, then yes, even Jamison. And when I returned nearly an hour later, Jeremy had my bath ready, and was rewarming it, throwing in some of my favorite oils.   
“You alright?”

“I asked a few people about some advice on a few things,” I said. “Didn’t hear what I wanted to hear, but I’ve decided to ignore them.”

“Well if you need advice on anything, you know you can talk to me.”

“I know,” I said, finally a genuine smile on my face. “Thank you. It’s just been a hell of a day, and I want to relax.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

I ran my hand down the front of his shirt. “No, babe. Not today.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I think we can talk about it tomorrow, yeah.”

“No, I mean do you want to go out and do all that stuff?”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay,” he beamed. “Then I’m gonna get in bed. I’ll see you when you get there.”

When I went to sleep that night, my mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts about my day. It had been, without a doubt, one of the most confusing days of my life. As it turned out, the expired Nesquik probably did have something to do with my throwing up, or else it was cleaning and paint fumes I’d inhaled. Pregnancy, which I’d never even considered before, was only in my mind now, I suppose, because I’d been thinking too much about parenthood lately. I’d felt embarrassed and foolish and downright stupid for the scare that afternoon. And was it a scare?

I’d made those calls because I wanted advice. Reassurance, more. Scarlett told me in so many words that I was batshit crazy. Amanda said that as my assistant, she was in no position to give such advice. And Jamison informed me that he didn’t think people ought to make those sorts of choices in haste, which he seemed to think I was doing.

So basically that didn’t help.

…

“I don’t want to wake up,” he groaned, stretching and wrapping his arms around me.

“Me either,” I answered. Truer words never spoken.

“Then let’s not,” he laughed.

“Okay.” I nuzzled face into his neck, and his two-day beard scratched my nose.

“How did you sleep?”

I made some sort of sound, because words didn’t seem befitting.

“Makes sense,” he mumbled. “Feeling better?”

“Hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

I pinched his side, and he jerked away a little with a laugh. “Jedi’s Garden?”

“Yeah, that works. It’s on the way to the city anyway, and I could go for some strawberry crepes.”

“Okay. As soon as we wake up.”

“Yes,” I smiled. “As soon as we wake up.”

I had not missed the fact that this would be the last morning I would wake up with him. Possibly ever. I think of all the aspects of our relationship that I missed, waking up to those arms around me, my legs wrapped around his, his morning breath and his urge for a cigarette, our naked or semi-naked bodies intertwined with sheets and Bartholomew at my feet – that was the one I missed most. Waking up with him. Waking up… not alone.

“What do you want to do first today?”

I had to think for a second. “I think we should see the Art Institute. Have you seen the miniatures? And then we should go to the Shedd Aquarium, because I haven’t been there in forever. And then Athens Elite for lunch, Brookfield Zoo, shopping on Michigan Avenue, and dinner at the Signature Room. That’s what I want to do.”

“And how much do you think we’ll actually get done?”

I laughed. “Maybe the Art Institute and definitely lunch.”

“Okay,” he smiled. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and looked toward the door. “I have to pee so bad, but I don’t want to get out of bed.”

“You should wear diapers, old man.”

“Shut up.”

We were silent again, but soon I stood and removed my shirt. “I’m taking a shower,” I said, walking away. “So if you need to pee, you’d better do it before I get in there.”

I went to the closet to get my clothes while he made his little trip, and he was naked when I got back to the shower. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

“Doesn’t look like you leave me much choice,” I said. “I’m not gonna leave you to wander around naked.”

When we stepped into the shower, I expected him to fuck me immediately. I expected that goodbye sex that we used to have right before he’d go back home and leave me here for however long it took until he passed through again. Instead what I got was a shower. Like, an actual shower.

Wow.

We did go to Jedi’s Garden for our crepes, and we made it to the Art Institute in a pleasantly surprising state of peace. I did show him the miniatures, and he did think they were wonderfully intricate just as I knew he would. And then to add to the shock of how well it all was going, we did get to the Aquarium to watch the dolphin show, which was only okay and had changed an awful lot since I was a kid.

We didn’t go to Athens Elite since they were closed for construction, but we did leave a long, loving, hand-written note for Al and Bob and Danny telling them we were severely disappointed in the fact that they would dare close their doors and how dare they be so successful that they would need a bigger place.

And then we went shopping. And it was wonderful.

I had found an incredible cocktail dress I’d had my eye on since I saw it on the runway a couple of months before. It was red and sort of short but in a good way, with a full A-line skirt and strapless bodice. No bells or whistles or sparkles. Simple and understated. And perfect. Jeremy was convinced he wouldn’t be able to get his new suit fitted and altered for him in time. And the wonderful thing about that was that I got to flaunt my connections in the fashion business and actually utilize the phrase “I know a guy.”

And by seven, we were the two hottest humans in Chicago. And quite possibly the world.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked me.

I was a little busy looking him over. God, he looks good in blue. “Hm?”

“Signature Room,” he smiled. “Let’s get a taxi.”

“We don’t have reservations. If you wanted in, I would have called yesterday.”

“Oh, they always say they don’t have reservations. I’ll get us in.”

Yeah, he could be cocky and arrogant, but maybe that was part of his charm. He was so impossibly confident in everything he did. He was so sure of himself. If he believed a thing, you could be sure it would be. If he believed in me, I could do anything. And I guess that’s why I knew I’d be great out in California.

When our cab stopped outside of the John Hancock Center, we took the elevator up to the top without a second’s hesitation. Jeremy “No Reservation No Problem” Renner was going to walk up to the hostess and get us a table. And why not? He’s an A-lister. Oscar nominee. And, you know, hot.

“Stay here,” he whispered as soon as we entered the restaurant. “I’ll wave you over when I get a table.”

I stayed back as he said, though I’m still not sure why he thought he’d be more effective alone. He charmed our hostess, a woman probably ten youngers than me, and flirted in his way. I knew he was flirting because his eyes do that… thing, you know? The puppy dog, thing. The blinking a few too many times and looking down a lot and smiling with that crooked fucking smile and Jeremy why the hell don’t you flirt with me anymore don’t you know I would give anything for you to flirt with me the way you flirt with these women what the fuck is wrong with you thing.

Sorry. I got off track a bit there. Where was I?

Oh right. He was getting us a table. Or at least he was trying. She was smiling back of course, but also shaking her head and refusing to accept his tip.

And yes, I mean money. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Finally he shrugged and turned around, heading back toward me. “Come on,” he mumbled, gripping my elbow as we headed out. “This place is shit anyway.”

“I love this place.”

“Yeah, well… We can do better.”

“Really? Better?”

“I’ll show you,” he nodded decidedly.

I was intrigued. A smile crossed my lips and I actually started looking forward to what lay ahead. “Where are we going?”

“No idea.”

We ended up back in a cab just sort of circling the city, the meter racking up five, ten, twenty, then fifty dollars. Our poor cabbie had implicit instructions from Jeremy to just drive until we found a place that stood out. And when I finally decided we would go out of our way to Connie’s Pizza for a slice, he was either too tired or too embarrassed to put up a fight.

We each ordered individual slices as my dress was too tight for more than one, and he was too mad to eat much. “I mean, who doesn’t let a movie actor get a table at a prominent restaurant? That’s exactly the kind of publicity they should have!”

“I don’t think they need publicity,” I laughed at his little tantrum. “Calm yourself.”

“I am calm!” He insisted, though the flamboyant tossing of his arms in the air begged to differ.

“Let’s eat outside. We’ll walk.”

“At night? With pizza?”

“It’s fun, come on.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly have to offer me that would appeal enough to get me to walk through those streets in these shoes.”

“I’m in heels, you drama queen,” I smiled, nudging his side. “I might not get another night like this for a while.”

He clicked his tongue, but he finally smiled. “For you, Lana,” he replied. “Only for you. I hope you feel fucking special.”

We hadn’t ordered deep dish, so it wasn’t difficult to eat and walk. We’d walked nearly a mile, in fact, with no complaints. Actually, no words at all. And suddenly we were at the river, and I was too scared of the bridge to walk any further.

“We turn around here,” I said.

“Still scared of this bridge?”

“Still scared of all the bridges.”

“Lots of bridges in California.”

“Why would you say that?”

He smiled at the sight of my horrification and moved closer, holding my hand as we approached the railing. “Does this bother you?” He asked, leaning over it a little.

“Not really. Not if there’s solid ground beneath our feet.”

“You cold?”

“Not particularly.”

“Here, take my jacket.”

“I told you I’m not cold.”

“Yeah, but I like the way you look in it.”

How could I refuse that?

I leaned over a little, though not as far as he, and snuggled into the jacket. I stood too close to him, probably. I was always standing too close to him, probably. I didn’t care.

I had to break the silence. “Hey,” I started feebly. “Um… thanks.”

“For?”

“Everything.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“I think you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had. You know that?”

He chuckled, but there was something less than genuine about it. “Yeah. You too.”

“If I die before you, promise me you’ll take care of my stuff, okay?”

“You’re not gonna die before me. Not unless I kill you.”

“Oh, is that a possibility?”

He laughed. “Maybe. Watch your back.”

“You’d never get away with it.”

“Too obvious it’s me?”

“Way too obvious!”

He was still laughing when he put his arm around me. Then both arms, and he was standing behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “God, I adore you.”

I almost didn’t believe he could say something like that. It was far more affectionate than it should have been. Friends don’t talk like that.

“This isn’t the best time for that, Babe.”

I could feel him bury his nose in the back of my hair. “I know. I don’t care. I adore you.” He was whispering now.

“You too.”

“I should probably tell you,” he said, now moving beside me again. “Chris called me. She wants to talk.”

Oh god. “About what?”

“Well I’m assuming it’ll be about reconciliation.”

“Of course it is.” Suddenly I was cold – or I was something – and I pulled his jacket tighter around me.

“Lana, you know that if I thought there was any chance you and I were a possibility, I wouldn’t even consid—”

“No, I know. It’s fine.” I looked at him with a generous smile. “She made you happy, didn’t she?”

“She made me… not sad. So that was good.”

“Yeah.” It was all I could say.

“You’ll always be special to me, you know. You’ll always be the best person who happened to me. No question about it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t say all your little cute things and compliments when you’re in the process of getting back with anoth—”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Yes you are! Stop!”

He couldn’t deny it, and he was an idiot for trying. “I’m still getting over you, you know. I mean, I’m past the hard part, I think. I’m not in love with you anymore.”

“Wonderful.”

“No, but I mean I’m not going crazy the way I was for a while. Now I just love being around you. Now you’re just my incredibly hot friend.”

“I guess I see your point. And I guess you’re mine, too.”

He stepped toward the curb and raised his hand for a cab. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“You’re not leaving until tomorrow, right?”

“Right. Pretty early, though.”

We stepped into the cab. “How early?”

“I’ll leave around 6, I guess.”

I nodded. “We never got to see Gramma, you know.”

“I’m stopping there in the morning. You still wanna come?”

I had to think for a moment. “No. No, maybe you should go alone.”

“Okay. I will.”

“And when I get back in another week, I assume this week’s behavior will be prohibited?”

“Not prohibited. Just… unwise. I need to… move on, I guess.”

“But tonight?” I slid my hand between his legs. “Tonight’s okay?”

He looked down at his lap, then leaned forward to me and kissed me. “Tonight’s great.”

We went home and made love. We didn’t fuck. We didn’t have sloppy sex. We made love. And if you don’t know the difference, I’m so sorry.

He was gone in the morning. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. Everything seemed finished. Everything seemed… good. The perfect way to say goodbye, I guess.

When I finally pulled myself out of bed and made it to the coffee pot, he’d left a note for me.

.

Hey,

I didn’t really sleep last night. I’ll sleep on the way home. I kept thinking about you.

You told me how much girls love hand-written notes, and it occurred to me that I only did that for you twice. I should have written you more notes. I don’t know. I guess that’s a stupid musing for this early in the morning while I’m waiting for coffee to brew. But yeah. I wish I’d written to you more.

Can’t wait for you to live out by me and Scarlett. You’ll love it. We’ll go out for drinks all the time now. Well, Scarlett and I will drink. You’ll have water and make snarky comments.

Coffee’s ready. Gotta go.

Jeremy.

.

And if anything settled for me the fact that he would be the first choice in fathering my child, it was that.

You can judge my decision if you’d like. You can say that I was too clingy or that I was depending too much on our past to make this decision or that I was only being emotional. You can say what Scarlett said and tell me it was a crazy choice to make now. You could be like Jamison and tell me I made it too fast. But I prefer you be like Mary and mind your own business, thank you very much.

I’d been talking about it for too long. Time to act on it.

.

To: Jeremy  
Sent: 9:06AM  
Next Monday I get in at noon. Mary’s picking me up and taking me to your house. And then we’re meeting for dinner at six at Johnny L’s. Be there or be square.


	13. Chapter 13

I was nervous. God, my fucking palms were sweaty as hell, which I assume is pretty sweaty because, you know, hell fire and all that. Anyway, I watched him come in and find the table I was at, and after our hellos and his chitchat about something else he wanted to do to his house before he sold, I just sort of… well, I interrupted him.

“So how, um,” god, really? “How are you?”

He smiled and chuckled a little in that way he does, nodding to me. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I know I talk a lot sometimes.”

“No, no, it’s fine. No, I was just asking… I mean I want to kind of get to the point, you know? I have some stuff to talk to you about and I want to make sure you’re in a good mood, you know, and that everything is going well for you.”

I could tell he was curious, and his eyebrows shifted up a bit before he answered. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“Nervous,” I answered. And was I ever.

The waiter came and Jeremy ordered a Coke and I ordered a water, and I think that was when it first clicked with him that something serious was on my mind. “Water?” He asked.

“Yeah, I… I’ve been drinking too much pop.”

“Cali’s getting to ya, Lana. Have all the sugar you want. You’ll never be fat and ugly.”

“Jeremy…”

“No, sorry. I meant that you should have whatever makes you happy.”

“I know. Jeremy…” I had my opportunity to speak, but somehow I just couldn’t.

But I had to.

But I couldn’t.

Yes I could.

“Look, I’m going to tell you something and I just want to say first that I don’t expect anything out of you that you’re not ready to give. Okay? And that… that I am only asking because you’re probably my best friend right now and I trust you. That means I trust you not to judge me for this or tell me it’s a mistake, because I’ve already heard that from people I thought I could trust. And you’ve been my friend, you know, during some pretty rough times, which is why I’m coming to you first out of my other options. This is a huge leap of faith for me, okay? So please… tell me I can trust you not to hate me for what I am about to tell you and the thing I have to ask you. Okay?”

He nodded. “You’re scaring me, but okay.”

I took a deep breath to try to calm my rapidly increasing heart rate. “I want to have a baby. And I want you to be the… uh… paternal contributor.”

He froze just as we got our drinks. The waiter asked if we were ready to order, and it sort of killed the moment. “Just a Caesar salad for me,” I told him. “Uh… and… the pork chop sandwich for him.”

Jeremy seemed like he was going to protest. Maybe he was off red meat again. But he couldn’t speak until the waiter left, and when he did speak, it wasn’t until he’d leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands as he looked at me.

“You want to have a baby with me?”

“I think it could be nice,” I told him. “I’m going to have a baby anyway. It might be good to actually know the father.”

“Yeah, but… why?”

“Because picking from sperm donors is a last resort.”

“No, I mean why do you want to have a baby?”

“I’ve always wanted to have a baby.”

“Yeah, but I thought you wanted to adopt.”

“I did. I mean, I still do. But… I don’t know… I want a baby. And having a baby through a surrogate is actually a lot easier these days than getting approved to adopt. Plus with adoptions there are waiting lists and surprise genetics and unknown health issues. I want to adopt, but I want to adopt older kids. And I want to wait a few years before I have, you know, eight-year-olds running around. Maybe I’ll do that when my own biological child is eight. Then he or she will have a friend.”

“So you’ve really thought this out.”

“No,” I answered sarcastically. “I woke up this morning and thought it might be nice to implant my eggs and your jizz into the uterus of a complete stranger.”

“That’s… gross. Don’t say jizz.”

“Jeremy, come on. You know what being a mom means to me. I’ve wanted it since before I knew I couldn’t do it easily. But thank the gods, we live in a time when having a baby is possible in one way or another for just about anyone. And I would like to take advantage of that.”

“But why me?”

“Why not you? You’re healthy and attractive and fit. You have a decent health history in your family. I mean, come on! Your eyes and my skin tone – this baby will be the cutest thing ever.”

“You don’t know the baby would have my eyes.”

“So is that a yes?”

“No!” He answered. “I can’t make a decision like that right now.” He finally sat up and crossed his arms in front of him. “I don’t think it’s time for me to be a dad just yet.”

“Okay, well first of all, I already told you I wouldn’t ask you for anything. I literally just want your DNA. I want to have a baby, and if that baby asks who his father is one day, I would like to be able to tell them it’s you, not donor 801-C3.”

“You really think I’d be able to know that I have a kid walking around town and not be in his life? You really think that’s something I could do?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking!”

He sighed, and his eyes seemed the size of quarters as he was obviously trying to think it through. Well, at least he was thinking about it. That was more than I expected.

“I need some time to think about it.”

I smiled. No, I beamed. I could feel the sun reflecting off the shine of my newly-whitened teeth. “Really?”

“Don’t get too excited, okay?” He leaned forward and held my hand on the table. “I have a lot to consider, you know. I have to ask my family, first of all.”

“Wait, why?”

“Because… it’s not just me having a kid. It’s them having a niece or nephew and a grandchild and a cousin. I have a big family, Lana, and they’d all be part of the baby’s life, too.”

“But I didn’t ask for that.”

“But that’s what would happen. Come on, you know that’s what would happen. Everyone would want to get to know you and they’d be buying you gifts and you’d be over for every holiday.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Then there,” he smiled. “You’ve solved the problem for me.”

“No, but I want you. I just don’t want… you know… a family. Not an extended family. I just want a baby.”

“You would get a baby. But I wouldn’t be able to just have a baby with you and then not get involved. I just can’t do that. And if I get involved, everyone gets involved. That’s how it is.”

I guess I hadn’t really thought it through. “I don’t know. I suppose that’s food for thought. Doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t still want to have a Renner baby.”

“Well then I guess we both have something to think about.”

Now is the point where I should probably mention that I had consulted with a fertility and implantation specialist in Chicago before I left. He’d explained how the process worked and even offered me resources which I could utilize to find a surrogate and all the services out in California. I seemed to have healthy eggs in spite of my condition, though further tests should be taken, he supposed. And if I knew a donor, I should advise him to abstain from drinking or smoking for at least two weeks prior to implantation.

And Jeremy would really need to want to do this for that to happen.

We finished our meal and he drove me back to the home that he and I would be sharing until I found my own place. It hadn’t changed too much despite the changes he’d made. Mostly he’d just updated the bathrooms a little and put a new face on the exterior. And all of the dirty movies in his screening room were gone, much to my dismay.

“But you promised we’d watch Return of the Killer Cockroaches!” I whined as soon as he revealed the now-empty closet to me.   
“I kept that one,” he assured me. “And I kept a couple others I thought you’d get a kick out of.”

“We should totally watch one tonight!”

“Okay, yeah. We’ll get you unpacked, I’ll order some Chinese, and we’ll watch Killer Cockroaches. How’s that sound?”

I grinned gleefully and practically jumped with joy. “Can’t wait!”

My boxes, which had arrived the day before I did, sat beside the door of the screening room where he’d directed them to go. Out of that entire apartment, only five boxes accompanied my trip, and yeah. Kinda depressing to think about. “Are you gonna help me?”

“Yep,” he answered. “But it’s almost all clothes, you know.”

“I think I’ve got one box of stuff for decorating my room.”

“How many New Kids on the Block posters?”

I gave him a stern look. “None, smartass.”

And then he laughed. And I could have died.

“I have a little shelf you can have in there for Gramma’s trinkets,” he told me. “Want me to get it for ya?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll get it. I think it’s in the other spare room.”

When he left, I emptied three of the boxes – all clothing – onto the bed and started putting it all away. Besides these items, all I’d brought were, as Jeremy had noted, my Gramma’s trinkets, a few books, and my sketches. By the time he finally returned with the cutest little antique cherry wood shelf, I had everything laid out.

Everything in my life fit on a king-sized bed.

“Where’s Bart?” he asked, standing the shelf in the corner, then standing back to make sure it was symmetrical with the other furniture because he’s a stupid perfectionist lefty.

“Oh, I thought I mentioned. Kate’s bringing him when she visits next week.”

“Oh, Kate’s coming? Cool!”

“You’re not allowed to sleep with her, remember?”

He chuckled and started lining Gramma’s spaghetti poodles along the shelf. “I don’t want to sleep with her,” he promised me.

“Anyway, she’s bringing him. I thought it might be too much for me to unpack and break him into a new house. You know he’s never lived anywhere else.”

“Yeah, and my kids aren’t going to like him very much.”

“Well that’s tough. They can live in the doghouse.”

“Where are you planning to put the catbox?”

“Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He shook his head and started on the second shelf. “There’s room in the laundry room.”

“We’d have to keep that door open, you know.”

“That’s fine. I’ll move the box outside when we do showings, but that won’t start for a while, anyway.”

“Okay. He’ll sleep in here every night anyway, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him wandering around too much. And those dogs aren’t coming in here to antagonize him, either!”

“Leave them alone!”

I punched his arm and walked right past him to retrieve more hangers. “No panty raids while I’m gone, right?”

“No promises.”

I jogged downstairs to the laundry room and scavenged for hangers when something I wasn’t used to seeing in Jeremy’s place was sitting there on a pile of clean laundry.

A neon pink thong.

Now, thongs aren’t really my thing. And neon pink isn’t really his color. Which meant that either he’d started cross-dressing, or he had a girl over recently.

And I was really hoping it was the former.

I decided to try and forget about the underwear as much as possible. I mean, could you really call it underwear? How much is that little thing actually covering? Come on – when it’s that small, what’s the purpose of wearing it? You might as well take a pink highlighter to your crotch and draw one on!

“Hey, do you want this picture on the wall or the shelf?” He was asking like he hadn’t just devastated my entire existence.

“Uh, on the wall I guess.”

“You okay?”

I looked over at him and nodded as convincingly as I could. “Yeah.”

He’d been holding a picture of me and Gramma from my high school graduation, and he set it down on the bed after I answered his question in such a lame manner. “You saw the underwear, huh?”

I couldn’t look at him, so I folded a shirt that was never meant to be folded and stared at it as I did so. “It’s okay, Jeremy.”

“Yeah, I thought about that as soon as you walked out the room, but I didn’t think I should say anything.”

“No, it’s fine. Seriously. I mean, we talked about you getting back together with Chris. I’m just glad it worked out.” I unfolded the shirt. Then I folded it again. Then I set it on the bed and then I picked it back up. “It is Chris, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We’re giving it another try.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought about that when I asked you earlier about—”

“No, dude, seriously. She has nothing to do with whatever decision I make.”

Finally I looked at him. “But… she’s your girlfriend. She should have something to do with it.”

“Well, she doesn’t,” he shrugged. “It’s none of her business.”

It wasn’t like he was going to say yes anyway, so I just pretended to agree with him. “Okay. Well just so you know, I have an appointment on Friday, and if you could let me know by then, that would be great.”

He nodded.

And then it was silent again. I had had enough of folding and unfolding things, and it was incredibly uncomfortable, but we were sorta stuck here.

“So… do you want this picture on the wall or on the shelf?”

…

I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. By Thursday night, I had seen Jeremy a grand total of three times, and twice he had definitely been on his way out to Chris’s house. The third time, he was on the phone in his bedroom, and it seemed like a bad time to bother him.

But now we were actually in the house at the same time. And I needed my answer.

“What do you want for dinner?”

He looked over at me from the treadmill. “Just make whatever. I have Rhoda coming over with my meal.”

Rhoda was his nutritionist, and he only used her when he was in training for a movie. “Oh. Okay. Well when she gets here, you wanna eat with me?”

He flipped off the machine and slowed to a stop. “Yeah. Let me go shower and I’ll be right there. If she comes while I’m in there, just get it for me, will ya?”

I made my go-to peanut butter and banana sandwich, and Rhoda gave me a very disappointed look indeed. But who was she to judge? Organic everything, natural peanut butter, banana, and whole-grain bread? Screw you, lady. This is as healthy as I get.

I set up his salmon and snap peas just as he came trotting out of the bathroom in his running shorts, shirtless because apparently he hated me.

Whoa.

“What?”

I’d said it out loud again, damn my mouth. “You’ve got your six-pack back,” I said.

“Yeah… well don’t say that too loud. You might scare it off.”

“So what are you getting all geared up for?”

He sat and looked sadly at his plate, sighing emphatically. “Bourne,” he said. “I’m shirtless in, like, half the damn movie.”

“Nice,” I laughed through my mouth full of sandwich. “So tomorrow…”

“Right,” he nodded. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

I gulped down what I had there, but I couldn’t eat anymore just yet. “I’m only asking because I need to know. It’s no big deal, you know.”

“It’s a huge deal!” he laughed. “It’s a kid. Like, a living thing. And this is a decision about whether or not I want to be a dad.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, Jeremy. Literally once you’ve come in a cup, that’s all I need. And you never have to worry about a thing.”

He picked over the fish and chewed on his lower lip for a second. I could tell he was trying to tell me about something he’d already been decided about, but I just wished he’d say it already.

“Just tell me. I can take it.”

“It’s just… you said you don’t want my family involved, right? And I’m telling you that I couldn’t have a kid without having my family involved. And that’s pretty much what I’ve been trying to think over, you know. And in order for this to happen, you’re gonna need to do something I know for a fact you don’t like doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to make some compromises.”

He was right. I hate compromise, and I had never successfully compromised on anything with him. “What do you propose?”

“What if we waited until after the baby was born, and then I told my family? That way they wouldn’t make a huge deal out of it until I could show them pictures of him and stuff and maybe… I don’t know. Explain the whole situation. If I told them now and something happened, you know, it wouldn’t be good.”

“But they’d want to… you know… they’d want to get to know me, you said. I’d practically be in your family.”

“Babe, you’re having my baby. You are family.”

It took me about three seconds to respond. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If I have to put up with your family in order to have a baby with you, I will.”

“Put up with my family? They’re awesome. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

I giggled, but it was all still setting in. “Wait… did we just agree to have a baby together?”

He laughed. “Yeah. You can finish your sandwich now.”

“Fuck my sandwich!” I threw it back on the little plate and stood to walk to the other side of the table. I hugged him so tight that he actually asked me to let him get some air, and I was so excited about having a baby – having his baby – that I had forgotten he was half-naked. “Oh my god, thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

His arms wrapped around me, and he pulled me to sit across his lap. “Babe… it’s okay. Don’t cry…”

But I couldn’t help it.

My fucking dreams were coming true. Literally. My fucking dreams were being realized and he was telling me not to cry.

“I love you so much, Jeremy,” I whispered.

“I know,” he answered.

My mascara was smudged all over his shoulder, my tears were dripping down his arm, and his plate of food was cold by the time I was through crying. But I don’t think he cared about any of that.

“What will Chris say?”

“Fuck Chris,” he answered. “She can say whatever she wants. This has nothing to do with her.”

I held his face and caressed his temple with my thumb while I looked him in the eye. I could swear there were tears in his eyes, but I couldn’t be so certain. “You crying?”

“Nah,” he shrugged, a useless attempt at denial. “I’ve just got a little something in my eye, that’s all.”

“A little something on both your eyes,” I smiled.

“Yeah. A little something.”

Neither of us finished our meals. But we sat at that table together for almost an hour. He just held me while I cried, and I thanked him enough probably to get him to decide never to make me happy again because god, I was annoying when I was happy.

“Do you want me at the appointment tomorrow?”

“Don’t you have a photoshoot?”

“Not until late. What time is your appointment?”

“Eleven.”

He winced a little. “I think I can stay for the whole thing. I’m not due to the studio until three, but I’ll need to stop by Rhoda’s and have lunch or else she’ll kill me for missing a meal.”

“Just come if you can, but don’t worry. I’ll get all of the info.”

He squeezed my hand. “Okay. We’ll leave together. I’ll just follow behind you in my car.”

“You’re sure about this, right?” I asked. “Because it would really suck if you backed out now.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “God, yeah. Yeah, I can’t wait.”

I kissed him, but it was very chaste and very quick, I promise. I couldn’t help it. “Neither can I,” I smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

I had promised Jeremy that I wouldn’t ask him for a thing, nor would I expect anything out of him. And I was firm in my decision to stay true to that.

My first order of business was to meet with my doctor and determine whether my eggs were viable. Jeremy, sweetheart that he is, accompanied me and didn’t say a single word while my new doctor and I discussed my uterus and my periods and other gross details about my reproductive system. I was set up with an appointment for harvesting (doesn’t that sound gruesome?), and Jeremy was set up to get his sperm checked.

In the weeks to follow, we were looking at meetings with lawyers, surrogate interviews, and payments that were sure to add up to the tens of thousands, and possibly more. But again, none of that really fell on him. As far as everything was concerned, it was all to go as if I were any other woman using donor sperm and a gestational carrier. Jeremy, as far as I could help it, would not have to bother with anything.

But he did.

He met with lawyers, helped me work out how I’d make payments, offered to help with the finances (I refused), and happily donated his sample for analysis. Everything in the week after was going surprisingly well and moving strangely fast. It was weird how perfectly it was going.

And when Kate flew in with my Bart, it was just the furry icing on the baby cake, if that isn’t too odd a description to pass over as if it isn’t there.

He was an angry little kitty, his tail much fluffier than usual before he slinked into my room and hid under my bed where he would end up staying for the next three days except for eating and pooping. But after he was hiding and Kate had settled down from the long flight, I sat with her in our main living room and talked to her.

The thing about Kate is that she is extremely smart and ridiculously gorgeous, but due to the emotional abuse she was subjected to for so long, I don’t think she’s ever really believed that. I couldn’t help but admire her beauty and think of how perfectly she would fit in in LA when I took her shopping the next day. I watched her talk about the weather back home, talking with her hands the way she did as her dark hair flipped carelessly and her deep blue eyes rolled when she related stories of how our neighbors wondered where I’d gone. And she was just in the middle of telling me how everyone had been giving her grief about why she hadn’t told them sooner that Jeremy Renner had been in their apartment building when the man himself walked through the front door.

“Speak of the devil,” I laughed. “Hey, buddy.”

He smiled over at me, then at Kate. “Hey! How was your flight?”

She immediately stood and rushed into his arms to hug him, and as she did, he looked over at me with a little bit of shock and the widest smile I’d ever seen him flash. “My flight was wonderful!” she gushed.

He patted her back and she eventually found herself able to pull away and return to her seat. “Did you tell her the news yet?” He asked me, setting his gym bag on the kitchen counter and walking over to join us.

“What news?” Kate looked at us both with a curious smile.

I looked at her to answer, but I didn’t really want to tell her until it was official. “Uh, we… we decided to have a baby together.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” She squeaked. “Oh, I’m so happy! You guys are great together!”

“No, no, we’re not together. We’re just having a baby. We’re gonna use a surrogate.” I don’t know why I felt the need to blurt out all the information in the world, but there it was.

“Oh… okay.” She was obviously a little confused as to why we were using this method, but she didn’t say it out loud. “Well that sounds like fun. When is it due?”

“Oh, well we haven’t actually done it yet,” I answered. “We still have to do interviews and get everything set legally, and then of course there are the doctor’s appointments. It’s a pretty lengthy process… could be a year or more yet.”

“We’re hoping sooner,” Jeremy interjected.

I looked over to him a little surprised. I didn’t know we were hoping that, but okay.

“So what about you?” He asked her. “What are you doing these days?”

“Oh, you know. Same old. Working my ass off, mostly. I really ought to quit.”

“You’re thinking of quitting?” I was surprised since I’d never heard her utter a single complaint about the place. “Why?”

“Management changes mostly. But I really do think I need a change of scenery, too. I like it out here, actually.”

“Actually,” I said, leaning forward, “I was just thinking you would fit in really well here. I mean, you’ve got the whole SoCal look going for you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sure it is. Right, Jeremy?”

“Sure,” he grunted. “If that’s what you’re going for.”

“No, but seriously? Isn’t she pretty? Can’t you just… eat her up with a spoon?”

Kate let out a blushy little giggle, but Jeremy only offered an awkward stare. “Of course she’s… cute. Yeah.”

This wasn’t helping the girl’s self-esteem any, but what the hell. “Well anyway, I have an appointment with Jeremy tomorrow. And then if everything looks good, we can go ahead with finding a gestational carrier.”

“Sounds exciting!”

“It is,” I said. “But it’s also a bit stressful.”

The room fell silent, and as we all sat around, me awkwardly biting the inside of my mouth, Jeremy picking at a fingernail, and Kate staring at Jeremy from the corner of her eye to assure herself she would have time to look away if he caught her glimpsing, Jeremy slowly scooted forward in his seat and looked upstairs to where me bedroom door lay. “I’m gonna go see Bart,” he said.

Having nothing else in mind to actually say just now, I looked up at Kate and smiled. “You’re going to be able to stay the full week, then?” I asked.

“Yeah, I leave same time same day of the week that my flight arrived, only next week.”

I nodded. And the silence hit again. “I’m gonna go fish Bartholomew out for Jeremy. Be right back.”

I’ll be honest if it wasn’t already apparent. Something seemed off once Jeremy sat in the midst of us, and even more odd was when he excused himself to see my cat whom he’d never really seemed to be particularly fond of. I told Kate to go ahead and make herself at home, then trotted up the stairs to my room to find Jeremy’s lower half sticking out from under my bed and soft rumbly sounds emanating from his general area.   
“You okay?” I asked, certainly not sure he was.

“Just saying hi to the kitty.”

“Why are you under my bed?”

“Because it’s nice down here,” he said. “Bart likes it, so it’s good enough for me.”

I knelt to the ground and gripped one of his knees, shaking it a little. “You wanna come out here and talk to me?”

“Talk about what? Bart’s purring.”

“I hear him, babe, but you need to come talk to me.”

“Nothing to talk about.”  
He was being ridiculous, not to mention weird, and I decided that if I wanted to see him face-to-face, I’d have to join him under the bed. Which I did.

“Come here often?” He asked.

“Why are you being such a freak today, huh?”

“I’m not being a freak. I wanted to come see the cat.”

“You never want to come see the cat.”  
He sighed and laid his chin atop one hand while the other hand scratched gently at Bart’s ear. “You’re prettier, you know.”  
“Prettier? Prettier than what?”

“You wanted me to say out there that she was pretty, and she is. But I don’t want to tell someone else they’re pretty in front of you. I mean, it’s bad enough you think I wanna sleep with her.”  
“Jeremy…”  
“You’re prettier than her, Banana. That’s all. I know it’s not a contest, but if it were, you’d win.”

Maybe he’d misinterpreted my feelings in this area, and maybe by a wide margin at that, but I couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Well thank you,” I said. “But you’re still hiding under a bed.”  
“I’m not hiding. If I was hiding I would have gotten completely under.”

I rested my head on my hand as well and looked at him. “You’re gonna be a great daddy to our little girl, you know that?”

“No I won’t. I’ll be a great daddy to our little boy, though.”

“We’re having a girl. I can feel it.”

“No one’s even pregnant yet!” he laughed.

I scooted over and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

…

My eggs, though completely useless inside my body, were “absolutely wonderful” according to my OB/GYN. Jeremy had “enough swimmers to compete in the Olympics,” and we were given an ideal chart of dates where implantation and such would be ideal – depending on our donor, of course.

Jeremy had, at my request, taken Kate out for lunch so that I could have time to set up appointments with surrogate agencies. It was almost one, and I was hungry, but I had chosen to ignore it because I know how sick I get when I eat on a nervous stomach. I’d feel better once I’d made all my calls. I knew I would. But just after I’d picked up the landline and started dialing, the front door opened, and that was strange because… Jeremy and Kate had only been gone about a half an hour.

“Lana?”

The voice calling me was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until I walked around the kitchen island and saw the tall, gorgeous redhead that I remembered that it was Chris’s voice. “Oh. Hi!” I smiled because that’s just good manners, right?

“Hi,” she answered, considerably less smiley. “How are you?”

There was just a touch of sarcasm in her voice, but I answered anyway. “I’m alright. Um, Jeremy just went out a little while ago if you—”

“No, actually,” she interrupted, and not very subtly, either. “I wanted to talk to you if you don’t mind.”

Shit.

“Yeah, okay. You wanna go sit down?”

“No,” she shook her head, her hands pressed to the marble countertop as she stood across from me. “This won’t take long.”

Now, I knew what she wanted to talk about. I knew she was going to ask me about me and Jeremy, probably bring up the whole baby thing, and possibly yell at me. And I can’t say I’d blame her. But if she wanted to do this here and now, fine. Let’s do this.

“Are you two sleeping together?” She asked.

“No.”

“Have you slept together recently?”

“It’s been a few weeks. It was before you two got back together.”

She nodded, but she clearly wasn’t thrilled. “Do you love him?”

Of course I loved him, but I don’t think she would have understood it the way I would have meant if I’d answered yes, so I answered no.

“Is he in love with you?”

“He’s your boyfriend, Chris. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Because he might not tell me the truth,” she answered, and I could see the faint tears forming in the bottoms of her eyes. “But you will. So please tell me.”

He’d just told me a couple weeks prior that he wasn’t, so I shook my head. “No, Chris. He’s not in love with me.”

I almost wanted to hug her if she wasn’t so fucking intimidating. She was like this powerful, beautiful woman who had everything, and yet there she stood across from me, barely keeping it together.

“Look, I may not have been the best girlfriend,” she said. “I get that, okay? I made some mistakes and I did some things I’m not proud of. But I love him, Lana. And he deserves to be with someone who loves him.”

“You’re right,” I answered. “So do you.”

At this she softened, and she tucked a curl behind her ear before she spoke. “You don’t think he loves me?”

“He says he does,” I told her. “But if you have any doubts, I’m not the person you should be working it out with.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” She placed her hands on her slender waist and sighed, blinking away the tears before they had any chance to fall. “Where is he right now, anyway?”

“He’s taking a friend to lunch.”

“What friend?”

“My friend. You wouldn’t know her.”

She nodded and gripped her Chanel clutch from the counter. “Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t, would I.”

She started to walk away, and though it wasn’t clear whether she was leaving or simply walking to a different room, I stopped her. “Chris, can I just level with you? I mean, can we just put everything out there and talk about this like adults?”

“What isn’t adult about my behavior?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I mean… look, he’s not in love with me. And I’m not in love with him. But he and I have been through some shit together, and that’s what’s kept us close.” I walked beside her now and she sort of accidentally followed me to the sitting room. “And of course we love each other as friends, and yeah, maybe we’re still more or less attracted to each other, but just because he and I are having a baby together doesn’t mean we’re in love. People do it all the time these days. They have kids with people they aren’t in a relationship with.”

After I said this, her mouth hung open a little and she sort of fell into the chair behind her. “You’re having his baby?”

Oh god.

Oh my god.

“You… You didn’t know?”

She shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, Chris. I thought he’d have told you by… god, I’m so sorry!”

She still wasn’t crying because I think she had worked for years at making herself too strong for that sort of thing. But something in her aura was sad and even angry. This much was obvious. “How far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m not pregnant,” I said. “No, we’re using a surrogate.” I was so goddamn sick of explaining this to everyone, but in this case I had no choice. “And I don’t really think it’s going to be, like, an active involvement between him and the baby. Mostly he’s just… DNA, I guess.”

“He didn’t tell me,” she muttered, and I think she had only been saying it to herself. “Why wouldn’t he tell me something like that?”

Again, I don’t think was really talking to me, so I didn’t answer.

“Do you mind if I wait here until he gets back from his little date?” She asked, almost spitting out the last word.

“Course not,” I answered. “I’ll just be up in my room.”

“No,” she called firmly. “No, I want you in the same room. I want witnesses to the conversation. And besides, he won’t lie in front of you.”

I wish I could deny that, but I couldn’t. And so there we sat in the most awkward and uncomfortable and frankly terrifying silence I’ve ever encountered. God, we were there for over an hour and literally nothing was said. And I had to pee so badly by the time Jeremy and Kate returned that I thought I might explode.

When he walked through that door, he was laughing in that way he does so that anyone for a square mile could hear us without a problem. Kate had probably said something funny. She usually does. But when his eyes caught sight of Chris sitting across from me, it all fell. He swallowed hard. God, he knew. I could see the fear strike through him and the intense guilt he could surely feel in the pit of his stomach.

“I think we need to talk, dear,” Chris told him sarcastically. “Now. Here. Sit down.”

“What’s going on?” My poor, innocent Kate asked, shopping bags weighing down each of her rail-thin arms.

“Kate, this is Christine. Jeremy’s girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” he corrected.

“Ex-fiancée,” Chris spoke.

And I had no idea that either of those things were ever really true.

“You know, don’t you?” Jeremy asked her.

Chris swiped her long red hair over one shoulder and leaned forward to look him in the eye. “Which part are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“About the baby, obviously,” he said. “I assume that came up in whatever discussion went on here.”

“Yeah, it did. But what else aren’t you telling me?”

He shifted in his seat nervously. “That’s it. I was going to tell you, but I wanted to wait until it was for certain.”

“For certain?” I interrupted. “I thought it already was.”

“No, but we haven’t found a surrogate yet. I wanted to wait until—”

“Until someone was already knocked up so that I would have no way of objecting to it?”

He looked to Chris as she spoke her accusation, and he wanted to object, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I’m done,” she told him. And if it wasn’t awkward enough for us all, she ripped the ring from her finger and threw it at him. “Go fuck yourself. Maybe you can at least get yourself off.”

That’s just cold.

She marched out of the house and I looked down at Jeremy. He held her ring in his hand and ran his finger over the band. I think he would have cried if we weren’t around.

“I’m so sorry,” Kate mumbled, stepping closer to him and laying a hand on her shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

“Well… I’m gonna go up to my room and get packing,” she said. “Big day tomorrow and I… uh… well, anyway. Yeah. That’s where I’ll be.”

Only after she’d left did Jeremy look over at me, and I wanted to hug him, but I also wanted to pee.

It was like Sophie’s Choice.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Is it so unreasonable that I would wait to tell her?”

“I’m gonna level with you, babe. Yeah.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to feel sorry for you. I mean, you were engaged to her? And why didn’t you tell me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jeremy, I asked you. Why didn’t you tell me you guys were engaged?”

He stayed silent, and I was fucking pissed.

“Can you please just say something?” I practically shouted now in frustration.

He nodded silently, then looked to the floor. “Because,” he answered, “I just thought… I thought that if I told you, you’d disapprove.”

“Well A.) Why would that matter? And B.) Why do you think I’d disapprove?”

He looked at me again. “I think you know the answer to both of those questions, Lana.”

And yeah. I guess I did.

“Do you want to back out?” I asked him.

“No. I want you to have my baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Come here,” he said, and he reached for my hand. I took it and moved to sit in his lap. “Lana, I was never really sure about her. I was never really sure about telling her. There are a lot of things I’ve never really been sure about, in fact. But something I know without a doubt is that I want to have a baby with you. I’m more sure of that than I am most of the career choices I make.”

“I…” I started to speak, to give some sort of reply or declaration of my mutual affection, but I still wasn’t sure how without coming on too strong. “I have to pee.”

He laughed and let go of me.

“You gonna be okay?” I asked.

He smiled up at me after I stood, then looked down at the 4-carat ring in his hand. “Yeah,” he answered. “Definitely.”

I practically ran to the bathroom, and when I returned a few minutes later, Kate was sitting in my previous spot. “Hey, Lana,” she called as soon as she saw me. “Come here, will you?”

I did, and I sat on Jeremy’s lap again because… well, because I wanted to. “What’s up?”

“Jeremy, Lana, you guys have been so good to me. You especially, Lana, and I want to return everything that you’ve done. I mean, Lana, you gave me a place to stay and you’ve basically been supporting me for almost a year now, and I just… god, how do I say this?”

“What?” He and I asked at the same time.

“If you need a surrogate, I wanna help.”

“Help how?” Jeremy asked.

“Honey, no,” I said. “No, you can’t sacrifice your body and a year of your life for me just because I helped you out a little.”

“No, I want to. I’ve been thinking about it since you mentioned you needed a surrogate last week, and I want to help if I can. Please let me help.”

“Kate, we’re talking about invasive procedures and morning sickness and… and stretch mark and cramps and fucking labor and delivery! You can’t just make this decision on a whim!”

“Not on a whim,” she said. “I know what’s involved. I’m not an idiot. So what if I have stretch marks or scars or any of that? It’s worth it to give you guys something you can cherish for the rest of your lives.”

I looked over at Jeremy for his disapproval, but he didn’t give me that. “She wants to do it, Banana.”

“Yeah, Banana,” she smiled. “Let me do this.”

If I were a less selfish person, I would have refused even further. But as it turns out, I am very, very selfish. “We have an appointment next Monday. You could stay here until then, go to the appointment, and if everything checks out, fine. But only if you’re sure!”

“Sure I’m sure,” she shrugged. “I love you guys.”

And just when I reached to wipe away a happy tear, I looked to Jeremy to see that he was doing just the same.


	15. Chapter 15

“Anything yet?”

“I haven’t looked.”

“Can I come in?”

“Into the bathroom? Are you crazy?”

“You’re done, aren’t you? I mean, you peed on the stick, right?”

“Yeah, Lana. I peed on the stick.”

“So it’s been two minutes, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track.”

“Just look at the test. Are there two lines?”

I couldn’t hear anything coming from the inside of the bathroom, even with my ear pressed to it. Kate and I decided it would be best for her to take the test while Jeremy was gone at work so that we could surprise him with the news – if there was news to share, that is.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and my body, which had been fully leant against it, fell in a little before I stabilized myself and looked little Kate square in the eye. “Oh my god. Please tell me there are two lines.”

Her blank expression looked over me quickly, and then at the corner of her perfect lips, the very slightest of smiles formed, and she held the test up for me to see. “There are two lines,” she grinned.

I wrapped my arms around her so tightly I could have suffocated her, but quickly released her when I realized it maybe wasn’t the best thing to do. “Oh my god,” I panted. “Okay, okay, um… wow… I… We need to tell Jeremy!”

“We’re still gonna surprise him, right?” She asked. “How do you want to do that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” I shook my head, still a bit fuzzy and trying to grasp this sudden reality. It had been nearly three months since we knew Kate was going to do this for us, and with one failed attempt under our belt, this successful one was something we felt we’d been waiting on for ages.

“Let’s give him the test for Father’s Day,” she suggested. “It’s this weekend, right? Seems like the perfect time.”

“Wrap it up and all that?” I asked. “I love that idea!”

Her smile, the new highlight of every day for me, had me eager to surprise Jeremy in whatever way she deemed best, as she was much better than I at preparing for these things. “Wanna go box shopping?” She beamed.

We made a day of it. I fed her anything and everything I could, took her shopping not only for boxes, but for high-end maternity clothes and custom dresses and jewelry and more things than she needed but I didn’t care. I practically bathed her in bottles of water to keep her hydrated, and of course I called the doctor to schedule her first appointment. We spent almost four hours out on the town, and when we finally came home, an unsuspecting Jeremy was lying on the couch watching TV.

“Hey, there’s my girl!” He greeted. “And Lana.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I looked over at Kate and gestured for her to take the bags to the bedroom. “How was your day, Mister?”

“Eh,” he grumbled. “I got hurt.”

“Hurt? How? Where?”

He lifted up the leg of his running pants and showed me a large bandage wrapped around his thigh. “I decided to be a dumbass and do some of the stunts myself,” he explained. “Ended up with a pretty bad burn.”

“Oh my god,” I cooed, looking over the mess. “You’re such an idiot!”

“I know!” he chuckled. “And hey, how were you guys today?”

“Good,” I shrugged. “I took her shopping for a while. That was nice.”

“Isn’t she supposed to take that test sometime this week?”

“No,” I lied. “She’s supposed to take it next week.”

“Oh, okay.” He lay back down and handed me the remote. “Here. I was just watching this because I’m not really supposed to be on my feet unless I’m at work.”

“How long is that gonna take to heal?”

“Should be good in a few days. Fully healed in a month.”

“So by ‘good in a few days,’ you mean you’ll be able to walk around?”

“Yeah, walk around. Take off the bandage. That stuff.”

“Okay, well, be careful. If you need anything, let me know and I’ll get it for you.” I walked upstairs to join Kate in her bedroom, and once inside, found that she had laid everything on her bed.

“I think we should make him a cake,” she smiled. “And then give him the box.”

“It’s not his birthday. He’ll be suspicious.”

“Yeah, but… but I could say I had a taste for cake and I can make it and say it’s for me. Then just, you know, offer him a piece. Then say, ‘Oh, hey, Lana and I got you something while we were out shopping.’ And then give him the box.”

I was starting to think maybe she was more excited about all this than I was.

“Sure, baby,” I smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

…

Sunday rolled around just two days later, and Jeremy limped into the kitchen for breakfast that morning, sadly peeling back the cover of his carefully prepared meal that his nutritionist had delivered for him.

“How many more days of that?” I asked.

“Only four, thankfully,” he scowled, picking at the oatmeal. “Not that these meals are bad, just… I’d kill for some of that cake batter Kate’s fixing up over there.”

“You don’t have to kill for it,” she said, scooping some onto a spoon and bringing it over. “Here. A little bit won’t kill you.”

He grimaced and almost turned it away, but like me, he found it impossible to say no to her. “Don’t tell Sandra or she’ll kill me,” he whispered as if Sandra could somehow hear.

“It’s our little secret,” Kate whispered back.

“Okay, so…” I interrupted loudly. “Kate was apparently in the mood for cake today. I think we should have some when it’s done, don’t you, Kate?”

“Oh yeah. You’ll have some, too, won’t you, Jer?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I’m gonna be putting in extra hours at the gym if I do.”

“You’ve never had my devil’s food,” she winked. “It’s worth it.”

“Sold!” He exclaimed, and I wished he’d stop looking at her like that.

“Oh, and I’m gonna go take care of that thing, okay?” I told her. “You can do that whenever you want.”

It took her a moment, but she finally understood.

I ran up to her room and prepared the box, inserting a picture of the test (because two days later, a peed-on pregnancy test doesn’t make a great gift) and wrapping it in a pink and blue entwined ribbon. I knew he’d know what it was when he saw the box, but I didn’t care. Kate was excited about this, and that was the only reason I was doing it this way.

She joined me just a few moments after and found me sitting on her bed, staring down at what was in my hands like it was the Holy Grail. “You’re crying again,” she told me softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” I nodded. “I’m just… I’m so happy, Kate. I’m so happy.” I patted the space beside me and smiled over once she sat. “I just want to tell you thank you one more time. Thank you so much for doing this. Really.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, Kate, seriously. This is… this is my dream come true. I mean literally, this is the thing I always wanted and never believed I could have. This.”

She blushed and looked even more impish when she usually did. “It’s an honor.”

I had to wonder how a girl who’d been through more than most people twice her age could do something so selfless for someone she’d known such a relatively short amount of time. I wondered why she loved me and Jeremy the way she did. I wondered if there was such a thing as Fate, and whether it was that which brought her into my life for this very purpose.

“I wanna give him the present now,” she said.

I handed it over. “Okay. Let’s go.”

We walked back down and caught Jeremy swiping a finger along the remnants of batter in the bowl still on the counter, then hiding his finger in his mouth as soon as he saw us. We teased him a little about it, but I was more focused on trying to not look like I’d been bawling the minute before.

“So,” she told him, sitting him back down on the barstool and holding the box behind her back. “Lana and I went shopping the other day, and we saw something absolutely perfect for you. Now, I know it’s a bit much, but it’s the least I could do as a thank you for letting me live out here with you guys.” She revealed the gift and handed it over. “Happy Father’s Day.”

He looked at her curiously. “Oh god, you don’t think of me as your dad, do ya?” he chuckled, pulling the ribbon apart. “I mean, I know I’m old enough, but you don’t have to rub it—”

And then he stared inside. And I covered my mouth with my hands because I was crying again, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“No fucking way.”

She nodded furiously and kissed his cheek. “Yep!”

“No fucking way!”

“Yep!”

Meanwhile, I was standing in back looking at them both through the fog that was my tears, thanking whatever deity might exist for these wonderful humans.

“Lana,” he called. “You know about this?”

“Of course I know!” I blurted, spitting a little because I was a fucking mess at this point.

He hopped up and I met him halfway to me because his limping was pathetic, and we held each other. I’m pretty sure we needed to because neither of us was in full strength to stand independently, though for two very different reasons.

“Oh, that’s the beep,” Kate announced after a second. “If you hadn’t guessed already, Jer, the cake is a celebration.”

He didn’t answer her, but swayed me side to side using his good leg for support. “I’m so happy for you,” he whispered.

“For both of us,” I answered in the same way. “Right?”

“Course,” he said. “Yeah. I’m gonna be a dad sorta, huh?”

I pulled away from him. “Sorta.”

“So yeah. I’m excited.”

It worried me, to say the least, but I chose to ignore it. Here I had believed he’d want to be as much of a daddy as possible. Certainly seemed so from the way he had insisted his family would be involved when the baby came. But now… I didn’t know. Maybe he had cold feet.

And I shouldn’t have cared as much as I did.

Jeremy reluctantly ate a piece of cake, but we could all tell he wanted much more. He asked how she was feeling, and she gushed about how she hadn’t had an ounce of morning sickness or fatigue, that she’d only been a little hungry.

And we all went to bed that night believing that everything we wished for had finally come true. And that we would have that happy ending. And that nothing could go wrong now that our little modern family was all together. And that everything was rainbows and sunshine and unicorns and everything smelled like pine needles and old books because that was how perfect everything seemed at the moment.

But everything is not perfect.

A little after midnight that night, I woke to Kate shaking my shoulder and urging me to wake up. She’d already switched on my light, and I could see the blood on her pajamas and hand.

“I think something’s wrong,” she told me.

I bolted out of bed and stumbled as I grabbed my shoes from the closet. “I need to take you to the hospital,” I said, trying to remain calm but, you know, dying a little bit inside. “Get some shoes on.”

“I – I can’t find any and – and I don’t feel good. And I think I puked in my bed.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said, tossing my slippers toward her. “Just wear those.”

“Should I wake up Jeremy?”

“I’ll do it,” I told her. “Can you get to the car on your own?”

She nodded.

I put the keys in her hand and gave her a blanket. “Sit on this,” I instructed. “And don’t worry about a seat belt. I’ll be right down, okay?”

I had to literally slap myself into focus, and I made my way hurriedly to Jeremy’s bedroom down the hall, letting myself in without daring to knock and turning on the light as crudely as she had done to me. “J, wake up!” I said, pulling his hair because it’s the only effective way to awaken him. “J, something’s wrong. I’m taking Kate to the hospital.”

He stared at me and furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Are you coming or not?” I asked.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, finally sitting up. He reached to the table and slipped on his glasses, then rushed to the closet for his shoes. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

He limped his way out with me, and leaned on me a little as he made his way down the stairs and into the car. Poor Kate was in the back seat with her hand on her almost invisible tummy and closing her eyes. “I think I have to puke again.”

Jeremy helped himself to the back with her. “We’ll pull over if you feel like you have to puke,” he told her. “Lana, let’s get going, okay?”

Obviously, idiot.

I’d never driven so fast. She did puke three more times, and I hate to admit it might have been at least partially my fault. She didn’t warn me, either, which means she puked directly in Jeremy’s lap each time, and yet he still held her close and pulled her hair back and patted her back like he’d done for me before. And maybe if that whole fate thing really is true, maybe I’d given him all those opportunities as practice for this very car ride.

Jeremy hobbled over to the wheelchairs and retrieved one for Kate even though he probably should have had one as well. He pushed her inside because he needed the support but would never ask for it in a million years, and she explained to the nurse that she’d been experiencing cramping, vomiting, and bleeding for the past hour. The nurse just shrugged and said, “Looks like a miscarriage,” before she had us all escorted up to Labor and Delivery, and as soon as the words left her mouth, I became a mess of tears once again.

We weren’t allowed in the examination room with her, but we were allowed in the doctor’s office due to the circumstance. Jeremy sat on the exam table, and I sat in the little wheely chair thing, and we were silent and teary-eyed for a while before he spoke.

“It’s gonna be okay, Lana,” he whispered.

When I looked up at him, his eyes were red as well, and though earlier I’d thought it was the simple fact that he’d been woken from his sleep, now I could see he’d been crying. “I can’t put her through this again,” I said.

“You didn’t put her through anything,” he answered. “But… yeah. I can’t ask her to do it again, either.”

“I’m not even sure I can deal with it a third time, even if we hired someone. These last two times…” I let my words trail off. “Well, it’s not about me anyway right now. I just hope she’s alright.”

“Dr. Nguyen said that it was a possibility,” he said. “Not that it makes it any easier, but… I don’t know. I’m not sure why I even said that.”

“You’re just trying to make sense of it,” I said. “And that’s okay. Thanks for coming with, by the way.”

“Well… yeah. Of course. That’s my baby.”

His baby. He called it his baby before I ever even called it mine.

It was at this moment that the doctor came in, and we braced ourselves for the news we knew we were about to hear. Jeremy held my hand and rubbed my knuckled with his thumb, and I leaned my head over to rest against his side. We were ready. Or, well, we were as ready as we’d ever be.

“Unfortunately, Kate did have a miscarriage,” he told us.

We knew. We knew, and yet we both cried some more when he told us. I guess it was just the fact that now it was all so… final.

“She lost some blood, but nothing too unreasonable,” he continued. “It looks like the bleeding stopped some time before you all even arrived. And we’ve given her a little something for the nausea. She even asked for cake,” he smiled.

“Thanks, doc,” Jeremy said. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”

“Oh, and you should know the other heartbeat is nice and strong.”

I lifted my head away from Jeremy. “What other heartbeat?”

“From the other little one,” he explained. “That one seems to be doing very well. 155 beats per minute.”

Jeremy squeezed my hand so tight it started to turn purple. “It was twins?”

“Did you not know?”

“No,” I answered. “We hadn’t even been to an appointment yet.”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Well, you know, they implant five embryos at a time during those sorts of procedures in order for the odds of success to be in your favor. The odds of two attaching are rare, but it happens. Unfortunately sometimes one is more viable than the other, as was the case here.”

And I swear to god, I almost jumped up and kissed that fucking doctor.

“Can we see her?” Jeremy asked.

“Uh, well, that’s up to her, really. I could see.”

“Please.”

As soon as he left, I jumped up onto that table with Jeremy and squeezed my arms around his neck. I could hear him laughing and I was certainly doing the same, but I still kept in mind that Kate must surely be feeling like shit.

“I really thought we’d lost our baby,” he whispered. “But it looks like we’ll be having a little brat anyway.”

“She’ll only be a brat if she turns out like you,” I teased.

“He.”

“Whatever.”

We were able to see Kate, who was sleeping when we stepped into her room, but woke when the nurse came to check her vitals. Upon seeing us, she lit up like a Christmas tree, and waved us over to hug her. I was just glad she wasn’t a wreck. I know I would be.

“Did you hear?” She asked us. “Did they tell you?”

“Yeah!” I answered. “Are you okay?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I’m a little sore, and I have a headache. But I’m just so happy for you guys. Doctor wants me to be on bed rest for the rest of this trimester, just to be safe. Guess you guys are gonna be waiting on me.”

“Hand and foot,” Jeremy told her.

We sat beside her on the bed, probably testing the weight limit but not too concerned about it. I held her hand and Jeremy massaged her calf to wring out the cramp she said she’d developed – though I’m not entirely convinced she wasn’t just desperate to have him touching her.

Can’t say I blame her.

She was able to come home in the morning, and we spent the day bringing her everything from ice cream to orange juice to peanut butter cups. And these weren’t odd cravings for her. These were just things she’d always liked.

And every day, it seemed, Jeremy would say a little something here or there that contained the words “our baby.” And that was when it dawned on me – and I mean, it really, truly occurred to me – that we were having a baby on March 8th.

Holy shit.


	16. Chapter 16

As soon as Kate had passed the first trimester, she began a regular practice of leaving our home in LA and heading back to Chicago. She did still officially live there, and she worked there (though now on a much different schedule of course), and her family was all there. She had kept healthy and reasonably symptom-free, so there was no reason at all for me to object. And yet every time she got on the plane, I found myself wishing she would just stay home and rest so that I never had to take my eyes off of her and that tiny little belly that was finally starting to show.

It was while she was gone on one of her trips that Jeremy and I decided to go house hunting for me. He already found the place he wanted and had been staying there a couple nights every week while it was being spruced up. But I was still living in Aisling Teach (as he had named it when we were together), and he was eager to get it on the market.

“There’s a two-bedroom in Simi Valley,” he said. “Bit of a fixer-upper, but it doesn’t look like too big a problem, and I would go ahead and put out the cash for it.”

He was always suggesting “fixer-uppers.” The only problem with that was that these homes were absolutely unlivable for anyone who actually needs to use a proper toilet, which wasn’t an issue with Jeremy apparently. We would go to these million-dollar neighborhoods and find homes just barely over half their potential worth, and he would walk me through and explain to me how if we looked past the current floor plan, past the cracks in the foundation, past the outdated bathroom, past the mildew in the ceiling, past everything that was bad, we were in a potential goldmine. I could never see the potential the way he did. I could never find the beauty underneath these cracking, dilapidated houses.

“Fine,” I agreed, but only because he wanted me close to his home and he offered to put up the cash for it. “But if this one’s another lemon, I’m not looking at these kinds of homes anymore.”

We headed out and met with his friend, a real estate agent who was eager for a decent commission and whom Jeremy had warned me about. “Don’t act too eager,” he’d told me. “Don’t get her hopes up.”

I was actually pleasantly surprised when we pulled up. It was a gorgeous white brick home with a simple landscape. Could use some sod, but that’s an easy fix. The agent wanted to walk us right in, but I hooked my arm around Jeremy’s and begged him to walk around the spacious yard with me first.

“Look at that pool!” I gushed. It was an impeccably tiled in-ground pool with an adjoining hot tub and a covered patio with built-in fire pit. I was sold on that alone.

“Can you imagine teaching the kid to swim?” I asked him quietly. “Can’t you just picture bringing her out here with her little floaties on her arms, paddling her around doggy-style?”

“What?”

“You know. Doggy-style.”

He let out a long open-mouthed laugh and hugged me close. “Doggy paddle?”

“Oh, fuck,” I mumbled. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“You’re gonna have to watch your language around him, too, you know.”

“She’ll be alright,” I assured him. “She’ll be fine.”

He shifted his smile to the side and grabbed my hand. “Let’s check out the inside. Come on.”

Now let me tell you something. The outside of that home looked like the outside of most of the houses back home in the Naperville neighborhoods – wealthy and well-kept and cozy. In fact, this home reminded me of the ones back in Chicago, which was what had me almost immediately making an offer.

But then we stepped inside.

It was like the rest. It was full of outdated paint colors and chipped tiles and utilities that were older than me. I had to admit that, sure, there was a certain amount of character in some of the features, but there was no way I could look at the decent crown molding and choose it over the yellowing bathtub.

“Just think about this,” he tried convincing me. “We knock down this wall here, we put hardwood floors all the way throughout, we give the kitchen marble countertops and that white subway tile you love, and we repaint everything. You’ll love it!”

But I hated it now and I honestly couldn’t imagine ever loving it. “It’s gross.”

“You have to look past it,” he insisted for the hundredth time. “Close your eyes. Imagine your dream home. Now imagine you have that dream home all to yourself, your baby son in your arms, rocking him in your little gliding chair I bought you for your birthday, and you’re singing him some wildly inappropriate song like Brown Sugar or something, and he’s falling asleep with those little brown eyes just staring up at you until he’s drifting, drifting, drifting…”

And indeed I had closed my eyes and allowed Jeremy to sway me back and forth as he tried to convince me. But even with the beautiful imagery, I couldn’t see past the awful face this home wore. “I’m sorry. No.”

He was clearly disappointed, but he put on his happy face as we walked out, and he promised we’d start looking at homes that were “move-in ready and boring.” His words.

We decided to grab lunch on our way back and stopped at trusty Johnny L’s for our Gyro and Greek salad. As usual, we ordered our meals and brought them home, and when we found ourselves siting on the floor nibbling at our meals at the coffee table, it occurred to me how quiet everything was.

“You know, in about five months, it’s never gonna be this quiet for me ever again,” I said. “That’s crazy.”

I think this was the first time the thought really sunk in for him, too. He just sat there and nodded and stared blankly at the wall with his mouth full of lettuce.

“I hear girls are better babies, but are harder to raise, and boys are the opposite. Maybe I’ll get my girl after all.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get a girl,” he smirked. “You always get your way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” he started, setting his fork in his plate and finally looking at me. “You want a girl. You’ll get a girl. You always get what you want.”

“Do not.”

“It’s a joke, Lana,” he told me. “Lighten up.”

“I wouldn’t mind a boy, you know. Really.”

“I’m sure you’ll love it no matter what.”

There was nothing especially rude in his words, but there was something in his tone that seemed off. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. And not convincingly.

“You want a boy. That’s your problem. You want a boy, and I want a girl, and you’re mad because you think I’ll get a girl.”

“Lana, I seriously don’t give a single fuck!”

But if it wasn’t the baby, it was definitely something bothering him.

“Then what’s going on?”

He shook his head and dramatically dropped his napkin to the table. “It’s nothing. Well… it’s nothing I want to get into now.”

“But it is something. So we should talk about it.”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

He could get like this sometimes. He could be so obstinate and stubborn I could just lunge at him and grab him by the throat. “Is this because I didn’t want to live in the death trap house you took me to today?”

Again, he was silent.

“It is! It’s because of that stupid house!”

“I just thought it could be nice, you know?”

“Nice? Nice for who, Jeremy? Look, life is not one big HGTV show, okay? You can flip all the houses you want and put your time into making these houses look all perfect and shit so that people will buy them, but a house like that is not a house I would raise a kid in.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was completely unsafe!”

“So I could fix it!”

“You can’t be serious! You think you could fix that place?”

“Yes.”

“You would let your child live in that house?”

“Yes.”

Honestly, I was actually offended. “You’re an idiot, Jeremy.”

“Why? Because I want to do something nice for you?”

“You want an arts and crafts project!” I stood and grabbed the remainder of my meal, too upset to eat anymore. It seemed like he cared more about a fun project than finding a suitable place for his family, and that royally pissed me off. You have to understand why.

“Where are you going?” He asked me. 

“I’m throwing out these fucking wrappers!” I shouted. “I’m really pissed at you!”

“Don’t just leave! You always leave when we’re fighting about something!”

I didn’t answer. I kept moving right on past him until I felt his fingers at my ankle and I almost tripped. To break my fall, I gripped his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Sorry? You tripped me, you asshole.” And I shouldn’t have hit him, but I did.

When the palm of my hand hit his cheek, he immediately gripped my wrist and pulled it away. “What the fuck was that for? Because I accidentally tripped you?”

“Because you’re an asshole!” I shouted, and I slapped him again.

I knew he could have easily stopped my hand from hitting him that second time, but he didn’t. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” I asked. “You’re just letting me hit you! What’s your problem?”

And I swear he smiled just a little.

“I’ll smack you again,” I told him. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he winked.

So I did.

His fingers uncurled from my wrist one by one as slowly as he could have done, and he was definitely smiling now. I tossed the trash back to the table and smacked his face again, then again, then took a turn on the other side of his face because he was red and raw and the stubble was leaving marks on my palm.

He rose to his knees and slid his hands along the back of my jeans as my hand hit his face yet another time. “I wanna see stars,” he groaned. “Harder.”

I had to take a deep breath before I could even try hurting him again. “I didn’t know you were into this,” I said.

“Neither did I.”

I smacked his cheek so hard then that my hand was numb, and before I could do it again, he had his fingers underneath the waistline of my jeans and was silently urging them down. “You know how to do it,” I said. “Go ahead.”

He obeyed and gratefully opened the buttons on my fly, tugging the jeans down my hips before he had his hands grabbing my ass again and was kissing over the lace of my underwear. “Pull my hair,” he told me, his face buried between my legs.

“Did you just order me around, Renner?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please pull my hair.”

I wrapped my fingers through the thick strands atop his head and pulled mercilessly. He let out a breath that landed hot between my legs, and frankly it had been too long since I had gotten fucked properly that I didn’t want to fool around anymore. I slipped out of my jeans completely and pushed him until his back hit the floor and his eyes were begging me over him. I straddled his chest and pressed my thumb to his lower lip.

“You hungry?” I asked.

He nodded, biting gently on my thumb and running his tongue over the tip of it.

I moved my body even closer to him, my hips now practically choking him – or at least they could have if I’d allowed myself to lower them. “You gonna treat me good?” And even as I asked it, it sounded awkward and foolish and I figured he was probably laughing internally at how ridiculous I was.

His hands gripped my hips and pulled me onto his face so that my thighs were at either side of his head. He pulled away my panties and slipped his tongue to the now accessible space, licking along my lips until he found my clit and laid his focus there. My hands sifted through his hair again, pulling it harder every time he sucked and lapped at those parts of me he knew just drove me crazy. Soon I found myself unable to keep from shouting, but this time I had nothing to fight about. This time, I was too fucking horny to shout with anything but joy.

So there I was, sitting on his face and getting the ride of my life and fucking breaking down from how much I loved this. And there he was begging me to pull his hair and slap him around and god, we both loved it equally. And soon enough, I couldn’t even stay in that upright position. I was falling over him and planting my hands flat on the floor as he tongue fucked me into next year.

He knew his mission had been accomplished, and then immediately turned me to my back. Both of us worked together to get his pants off, and once he was working at kicking them off, I was pulling the shirt from his body and wrapping my legs around him and begging him to fuck me. He lined along my entrance, pushing into me without any kind of special care or attention and I fucking loved that about him. He was never too gentle in moments like that because he knew I liked it raw and rough and just a little bit painful. And as his body weaved over mine, I gripped his jaw and clenched it tight between my fingers, looking him in the eye and gritting my teeth and watching his pupils widen to the size of fucking saucers.

My hand could just barely reach the sofa, and I managed to grab a pillow and slide it under my hips at the angle that always worked best for me. I begged him to fuck me harder and harder and dammit, he was doing his best, but he seemed to find a moment of clarity just long enough to flip me to my stomach and prop my hips higher so that he could fuck me from behind. And then… that was just it.

I had to hold on to the leg of the coffee table when he had me to the point of no return and I was absolutely screaming now. I felt like the past seven months without him fucking me was all manifesting its frustration at once. Yes, I was getting the fuck of the decade right now, but I was also fucking pissed and confused and worried and scared about my future, and all of those emotions were there, right there on my mind while Jeremy was surely only thinking of whether he wanted to come inside me or all over my ass cheeks.

When I was able to focus again, I turned around and pushed him to the floor once more, and I rode him for only another minute before he couldn’t take it anymore. He came with a loud moan I’d never heard him make before, holding my body tightly onto his as I added to the scratches on his chest and hoped for his sake he wouldn’t need to show that skin off any time soon.

I bowed my head to meet his and kissed him softly. But I could only be gentle for a moment. He was running his hand through my hair and opening his mouth and teasing my lips with his tongue. And I had to accept.

“Still pissed at you,” I whispered.

“I know,” he smiled softly. “I’m sorry.”

…

I think we mostly just pretended after that point that what happened… well… didn’t happen. In front of Kate, we were two little saintly choir children. When she was on one of her trips, we were fucking porn stars.

We even made a little movie. But that’s really a story for another time…

It was fucking weird how soon the holidays came along. It was like one minute it was summer, bikinis, and beaches. And then the next minute it was fucking Thanksgiving and Jeremy was trying to get me to have dinner with his family.

Instead he took Kate. And he broke the news to them about the baby because she was showing, and it would have been weird not to.

Now, the reason I chose not to go eat with Jeremy’s family is pretty simple. I had started my new job a couple months before and I was taking advantage of all our breaks to rest and create designs and order authentic vintage from shops throughout the country. But between you and me, I honestly just didn’t want to see that kind of family. I don’t know how I would have reacted to that – brothers and sisters and divorced parents who still care about each other and cohabitation between that many people. Honestly, Kate was much better suited. It wasn’t that I hadn’t met them ever – I’d met his sister once at an event and I’d accidentally talked to his dad when Jeremy left his phone with him. But I had never in my life learned how to be a normal family. And you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Me being the old dog, and the ability to family being the new trick.

When Kate returned to California to spend her Christmas with us, it seemed like in the two weeks prior, she’d doubled in size. Seriously, she was gone two weeks. Two. And she was huge now.

“The doctor told me what you guys are having,” she told us. “Do you want to know?”

I begged to know, but Jeremy shook his head. “Not really.”

“Because you’re so sure it’s a girl,” I said. “And you think you’ll be disappointed.”

“So for Christmas, maybe I’ll tell you, Lana,” she suggested. “And for you, Jeremy? Maybe… a shirt.”

He chuckled the way he does and gave her a loving little hug and I wished he’d just not do that kind of thing. “You’re giving us enough Christmas and birthday gifts for a lifetime,” he told her. “Don’t you even think about giving us presents.”

“I’ll take your present,” I said. “Seriously, I need to get to work on a nursery.”  
“Work on a nursery?” he laughed. “You still need to find a house!”

I hated to admit it, but he was right. We would be parents in less than three months, and the time between Christmas and the due date was award season.

And if Jameson had been correct, I would have a very busy award season.

“That reminds me,” I said. “I still need to get you something, Jeremy.”

He shrugged and gave a sort of half-smile. “You’re giving me a kid. Same rule goes for both of you as far as I’m concerned.”

“So we’re agreed the only person between the three of us who’s getting an actual present this Christmas is me?” She asked.

“I already know what I’m getting you,” I told her.

“Me too,” Jeremy grinned.

She begged like a little child to get us to give her her presents early, but I reminded her she only needed to wait one more week. Jeremy then informed her that she might have to wait even longer than that for his, because he hadn’t ordered it yet.

I asked him later what he was getting, and he explained that he had a custom jewelry piece in mind that he was going to order through Neil Lane.

Actual Neil Lane. The actual person.

And I was going to make her a custom formal wardrobe for award season and take her with me to every event. Mine sounded fucking lame compared to his.

“J, that has to cost, what? Tens of thousands?”

“You should come with me. You should help me design it.”

“Jeremy, I’m serious. You’re going to spend this much on her?”

He looked at me like I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Yeah. Why?”

Why? Well for one, he’d never given me jewelry. At least, nothing like that. There was that bracelet he bought me when we took a walk through the forest preserve and chose our own agate to turn into jewelry but that’s hardly a comparison. And for another, it was bad enough the two of them were getting comfy-cozy. Now he was just downright spoiling her.

“Do you have a thing for her?” I asked him.

It surprised him. Hell, it surprised me. I didn’t think I’d ever really suspect he had a crush on her, but I knew I’d never ask if he did. At least, I thought I knew.

“Are you being serious right now?”

I followed him as he made his way past me indignantly and walked into his bedroom. “Yes,” I answered. “I’m serious.”

“Why? Because I’m treating her well? Because I’m buying her a Christmas present?”

“Because you’re always spending time with her!”

“You tell me to!”

He was right. Dammit.

“Well, you’re getting her a fucking custom piece of jewelry. You’ve never gotten anything like that for anyone.”

“Did it for my mom twice,” he answered immediately. “You wanna tell me I’ve got a thing for her, too?”

“This is different and you know it,” I said. “Do you have a thing for her or what?”

“Can you get out of my room?” He asked. “Please?”

Sometimes it seemed like all we did was fight and fuck. And I didn’t feel like fighting anymore.

…

I don’t know how he convinced me to do it, but somehow Jeremy had me accompanying him to assist in choosing Kate’s custom necklace. It made sense, I guess. I mean, I knew her favorite colors and the style of jewelry she liked to wear, and come on, my taste is impeccable.

I’ve gotten to do some cool shit in my line of work, and even more so with the TV show I was working on, but I’d never gotten to do anything like this. There I was talking to the most notable name in jewelry, choosing designs and chain lengths and stone shapes – and it wasn’t even for me. We decided on a yellow diamond pendant with accompanying ruby and sapphire accents, and I knew she’d absolutely flip over it. Not that she would ever appreciate it like I could, but still.

As Neil (I decided I had earned the right to address him by his first name) was putting together a template for the piece, I wandered over to view the engagement rings he’s so well known for. There was absolutely every clarity, weight, and variation you could imagine, bands just dripping with diamonds and designs no human should ever be clever enough to imagine. And then over at one end of the case sat a small single solitaire round cut diamond on a plain platinum band. And for some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

What it was about that ring, plain in comparison to every other piece, I wasn’t sure. But to me, it was a sort of simple, understated beauty. A classic you can never go wrong with. Something that will never not be beautiful.

Funnily enough, it kind of reminded me of Scarlett. And I started wondering how she was doing these days.

“You wanna see it?” Jeremy asked, approaching me.

I broke my gaze just long enough to see the template set before us. And it was so gorgeous, I couldn’t even speak.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked.

“She’ll love it,” I promised.

And she did. He was able to have the order rushed and you’d never know it was made in such a hurry. She was so emotional over it that she cried, and I held her as she clasped it around her neck and I tried not to let her see that I was laughing at her hormonal behavior.

Though to be fair, I probably would have cried, too.

When she excused herself to “clean up her face,” Jeremy and I laughed at her just a little bit, but there was something about the way he looked at her that worried me. I’d never known him to really look at anyone like that. And goddammit, she’s the one person he wasn’t allowed to fall for.

“Can I talk to you outside?” I asked him.

He was so carefree about the way he agreed that I was sure he had no idea I was going to bring the subject up again. But as soon as we were alone, I did.

“You’re still worried about that?” he asked.

“Jeremy, you’re not allowed to fuck her,” I told him. “Anyone but her.”

“I don’t see her that way! I told you!”

“You see her some way!”

“I see her as a sister,” he said. “I’m sort of protective of her like that. But I can promise you I have absolutely no feelings toward her other than that.”

“Sister? You see her as a sister?”

“Yes!”

“And how do you see me?”

And then that motherfucker laughed. He actually laughed.

“I’m serious, Jeremy! How do you see me?”

I’ll never forget it. I was wearing cotton pajama shorts with Santa faces on them and a lime green softball tee with no bra. I hadn’t shaved in two days, my hair was a frizzy mess, there was a pimple on my chin, and I was wearing my dorky glasses because I was just plain too lazy for contacts. And even like that, even with my hands on my hips and my accusations and my all-around bitchy attitude toward him for completely unfounded suspicions, he smiled fondly. Not a full, toothy grin. Not sarcasm. Just enough of a smile to show that it was, in fact, there.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

I was speechless. I was immobilized. I was a fucking statue. Though why anyone would make a statue that looked like that I could never say.

He reached into his back pocket and handed me an envelope. “Oh,” he said quietly. “And I got you a present. Merry Christmas.”

At some point between the time he forced the envelope between my fingers and the time I woke from my trance, he had walked back inside. With nothing left to do and no immediate desire to follow him in, I opened the gift to find not a card, but a tri-folded paper titled “Deed of Sale.”

A house. He bought me a fucking house.

And I had spent the last two weeks complaining that it wasn’t a necklace.

Holy fucking Jesus in a manger I’m an idiot


	17. Chapter 17

I waited only as long as it took me to remember I could easily access Jeremy’s car keys before I stepped inside, grabbed them from the little bowl next to the door, and rushed back to the car to leave. I yelled at that stupid little voice-recognizing GPS system that knew Jeremy’s voice and not mine, apparently, until finally I had to pull over and type in the address by hand. The drive itself was very short. I knew it would be. But it felt like it had to be the longest ten minutes of my life. And I don’t even know why.

I pulled into the driveway at 111 Heywood and turned the car off before I even took a proper look at what lie behind the too-tall oak trees in the front lawn. It was certainly nothing to write home about, but I couldn’t say it wasn’t cute. Charming, even. The slight shade of pink was sort of nauseating, but once you looked past that, the windows, original wooden siding, brick accents, and wrap-around porch just sort of screamed country living. It had never really been my thing, the whole country business. Or at least, it hadn’t been until now.

Not that I was in the country. I mean, if anyone at all was aware of my location, it was me.

I’d been entranced by exteriors before only to be disappointed by the interior, so I knew I couldn’t take any joy in this gift until I’d seen the inside. I know that probably sounds like something a spoiled brat would say, and it is. Not me. I’m not the spoiled brat. But we were having a kid, and I knew that he or she would be. The way I saw it, I was just speaking on the baby’s behalf.

I tried every key on Jeremy’s keychain, but none of them were for the house. And in my mind, of course, the next logical step was to walk around to the back, climb up the side of the shed, access the roof, try all of the windows until I found one that both fit me and was unlocked, and help myself in. And when I did, what I saw…

…I can’t even describe it to you.

I can describe the color. It was a very pale gray on three of the four walls, and an alternating striped pattern of green and dark gray on the fourth. I can describe the décor, even though all there was of that was a gliding rocker in one corner, a bookshelf beside that, and a crib opposite those two pieces. And I can describe the smell. Fresh pain. One of my favorite smells in the world.

What I can’t explain is how it all made me feel. Even thinking back on that exact moment when it hit me just what I was looking at, I can’t find the words. I’m having a hard time even just saying these words.

I remember I kind of really wanted to sit in the glider. But at the same time, I didn’t want to disturb anything. I noticed the stack of boxes beside the door and considered having a look inside them, but again, I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to touch anything just in case it would somehow cause all the wonderfulness surrounding me to crumble into dust. Or to disturb something that might wake me from this dream. All I could do was sort of fall to my bum and sit with my legs folded under me as I looked the almost completely voided room around me and memorized everything about it. Because if this really was all a dream, I wanted to remember everything so that when I did get a place, I could make this exact room.

I don’t know how long I sat like that. I suppose it couldn’t have been longer than whatever time it takes for the cops to arrive after being called on what the neighbor apparently thinks is a break-in, because I stood as soon as I heard sirens. And then soon after that, I could hear footsteps running up the steps and heading toward me.

“There are cops outside, you know that?”

I looked over at Jeremy as he stood in the threshold with a faint look of amusement on his face.

“You probably shouldn’t be scaling formerly abandoned buildings in the wee hours of Christmas morning,” he smiled. “I think I’ve got it taken care of now, but seriously. What were you thinking?”

I reached into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out the deed. “You bought me a house,” I said quietly.

He straightened his back and ran his had messily through his hair, his eyes avoiding mine as they searched the one patterned wall of the room. “Yeah, well… you wouldn’t get around to it, so I had to.”

“So this isn’t a Christmas gift you’ve given me out of affection?”

He only smiled.

“Jeremy, what is this? And that… that thing you said—”

“Will you please just come down?” He asked, stepping closer and holding my hand. “I need you to prove you live here so the cops go away, okay?”

We straightened everything out with Simi Valley’s finest, and once they’d gone I found myself planted firmly on the front porch steps enjoying the not-too-distant view of the mountains. “I can’t believe you found this place,” I told him, patting the spot beside me. “How did you even know I would like it?”

“I didn’t,” he shrugged. “I was just hoping it would be good enough once I did a little sprucing up.”

“I was sold on that nursery,” I told him. “I just love it.”

“Good. Good.”

I rested my head on his shoulder and he rested his head on my head and I entangled our arms. There was a little bit of a nip in the air – at least for this neck of the woods – and Jeremy removed his sweatshirt and offered it to me before he turned around toward the house. “Wanna take the tour?”

I slipped into the clothing and stood. “Is it finished yet?”

“Not yet. But you’ll see.”

All I’d really noticed on the way downstairs a bit earlier was that everything smelled like fresh paint, and that the floors were obviously new. Beyond that, however, it was all a blur. This time around, I could pause to enjoy the crown molding, the chair railing, the new appliances, the kitchen island, the white subway tile he knew I favored, and the other little details about the place. He hadn’t let it look too new because he knew how little I enjoy the modern style. But he made it new enough to feel like a fresh start, and that was exactly what I needed.

The living room boasted a gas fireplace surrounded in an entirely refurbished brick and the ideal space above for that antique mirror I’d treated myself to the month before. The home was completely devoid of any furnishings beyond the few pieces in the nursery, and the master suite had the biggest bathroom I could ever have imagined for a house so small. All in all, it had just enough character to feel like home. But it was, without any doubt at all, a Renner home. It had him written all over it.

“The outside is next,” he said. “Needs a new paint job and could use some repair on the porch, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I figure we could get around to it after the new year.”

“After the new year is award season,” I reminded him. “We might be busy.”

“You’ll be busy. I won’t.”

“You’ll be busy. You’ll be my date, won’t you?”

He gave me a bit of a surprised look and shook his head. “My mom’s always my date, Banana. You know that.”

“Fine. I’ll take Kate.”

“Kate’s going to be nine months pregnant by the time the good awards come around.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, “Two things. First of all, they’re all going to assume she’s having your baby…”

“She is.”

“No, but you know. They’ll assume you’re a couple.”

“Oh.” I thought about it for a second. “Well, who cares what they assume?”

“And second, she won’t be in any kind of mood to do a red carpet. She’s already getting tired out just going on those walks with me, and she’s only 6 months along.”

“So she can ride piggyback on me,” I laughed. “I made her a wardrobe, and I’m not letting it go to waste.”

By now we had found the attic space, having climbed a very narrow staircase behind an ominous door behind the upstairs bathroom. Inside it smelled of insulation and was hot enough to warrant my immediate removing of his sweatshirt.

“Why are we even up here?” I asked.

“I figure we can vent it a little,” he smiled proudly. “I could put a little window over there, and we could fix up these walls.”

“A playroom,” I whispered. “Perfect!”

We sat cross-legged on the floor as he explained all of his plans for the baby’s things. He said he knew a place where he could have custom shelving built, and another place that would create child-safe light fixtures that our child could access on her own, and he told me he thought the room would look lovely in a certain shade of yellow he’d been thinking about – especially once the window was in and the sun could shine through. He had it all planned. All of it.

Normally I had to plan everything because I’m so used to everyone else fucking things up for me. But this time, I loved everything he said. In fact, I wish there was more for him to say. I just wanted to hear him talk.

“And then I thought it might be fun to go to the flea market for some of the furniture. You know, find some antiques and things for the house.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’d like that.”

We both leaned our heads back on the slanted wall simultaneously and sighed. It was so dark and warm up here, but I didn’t want to move. Maybe he did, but I wasn’t going to suggest it. He was holding my hand again, though I don’t remember how or when that happened, and he was very slowly running his thumb over my knuckles. And I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I kissed him.

When our lips parted, he buried his face in my neck. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” I answered.

“Good.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?”

He kissed my neck and then looked up to meet my eyes. “I don’t know. I just want to make sure.”

“I’m so happy, J,” I nodded. “Seriously.”

It was so very dim. I wished I could see him better. “I meant what I said,” he told me. “I’m in love with you.”

“I know you are.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know how you feel, too.”

“Yes,” I answered. “But you also know why I’m not saying it.”

He moved up to a kneeling position and wrapped his arms around me, pulling my entire body against his until I had to hold him in the same way. “You know what?” He asked quietly.

“What?” I whispered.

His lips pressed close to my ear. “I’m hungry. We should go home and eat.”

…

We found little Kate setting the table when we got back, though half the morning’s meal was mysteriously gone from the serving dish. “I think the gnomes got it,” she smiled.

“A pregnant gnome?” I asked.

Poor oblivious Kate served us a couple of plates so graciously before sitting down to what must have been her own third or fourth helping by now at least. “How’d you like the house?” she asked.

I knew Jeremy must have told her a little bit before he came after me. “The neighbors called the cops because they saw me break in,” I told her. “But other than that, it was perfect.”

“You know Jer keeps a pair of keys in the mailbox, right?”

I looked at him. “Oh does he now?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled them out. “Not anymore,” he said.

After another few moments of chomping, Kate suddenly shot up in her seat and smiled. “Oh! I was going to tell you the sex of the baby today as your present!” she said excitedly. “Do you still want to know?”

Jeremy immediately answered no, but I figured he didn’t get a say anyway. “Of course I do,” I said.

“Guess!” She bounced in her seat like the child that I saw her as anyway.

Jeremy grumpily bit away at the eggs on his fork. “Girl,” he said. “I already know it’s a girl. Called it before you were even pregnant.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Is it a girl?”

“Well now I’m worried you’re gonna be disappointed,” she frowned. “Now I don’t wanna say.”

“Wait,” Jeremy interjected, now taking his own turn being excited. “Disappointed because we guessed, or disappointed because it’s a boy?”

She looked at him, then at me, then at him again. “You said you didn’t want to know, and it seems like whichever answer I give, one of you’s gonna be disappointed.”

“I won’t be disappointed,” I replied. “I’d be perfectly happy either way.”

“Me too,” he chimed in. “Tell us.”

She reached into her pocket and handed us each a copy of the ultrasound photo. “Boy,” she smiled.

I thought Jeremy would fall out of his seat. He flashed one of those smiles that lit his whole face, and he immediately moved to Kate to wrap her into an enormous hug.

“A boy!” I repeated. “Oh my god!” To think of myself raising a boy was going to take some getting used to, but so would parenthood in general, I supposed. “Oh my god!”

“Do you have a name yet?” She asked.

“Babe, I’ve had names picked since I was 22.”

“And?”

I looked at Jeremy, who seemed like he was just so content with getting a boy that I could have named it Crap Bag and he wouldn’t have cared.

“Justin Lance,” I answered.

Both of their smiles fell immediately.

“You’re not naming our baby after Backstreet boys,” he said seriously.

“First of all, how dare you?” I told him. “And second, it’s N’Sync.”

“No,” he said. “I know you love your boy bands, but if you love this child at all, you won’t name him that. Please for the love of all that is holy don’t name my baby after Justin Timberlake.”

I could see his point. God, you could see his point from space.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I have backup names.”

“No boy band names,” he echoed. “I just… can’t.”

I looked at Kate. “Do you think that’s so bad?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I would never name my child after a teen idol. Is there something wrong with you?”

“Fine! What are your brilliant suggestions?”

“I like old-fashioned names,” he said. “How about Cooper?”

“Cooper Renner?”

He had the weirdest look in his eye when I said that, though it took a while for me to realize why. He shook his head. “Okay, maybe not that one. Kate? Any ideas?”

“I like Luke,” she suggested. “And Noah.”

“No Bible names,” I said. “Come on. Your guys’ suggestions suck, too.”

“How about Grayson?” he said.

“Or Brandon?” Kate added.

“No! Look, obviously I need more time to decide,” I said. “We’ll… we’ll do this later, okay?”

When I got up to retreat to my room, I fully expected protests and their voices to follow, asking me to stay with them and enjoy the holiday. But they let me go upstairs, and I was sort of grateful, to be honest.

I showered and dressed and tried to show as little Christmas spirit as I could by the time I rejoined them. I found them in the rec room playing ping pong, and I laughed a little out of their sight as I watched Kate’s disproportioned body bobbing and weaving for the ball.

“Oh my god!” She stopped suddenly, placing her hands on her stomach.

Jeremy and I rushed to her in a panic. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it the baby?” We were asking the same questions over and over and we knew she was trying to answer, but we were barely letting her.

“He’s kicking!” she laughed. “Feel him!”

I put my hands where she guided. “I don’t feel anything.”

“He was just doing it,” she said. “Give it a minute.”

I waited, but still nothing.

“Let me try,” Jeremy suggested, and he slid his hands under mine. “Come on, buddy,” he coaxed. “Give us a good kick, okay? Mommy wants to feel you.”

And it was as if the damn thing had some sort of preference for him at that moment. Immediately he began kicking away like it was the damn World Cup.

I could feel him even with Jeremy’s hands underneath mine, but he guided my hands so that I could press my palms against her skin and feel him fully. I wish I could describe it – the way the little thumps felt, the sliding of those teeny tiny feet along her belly. The baby was now, according to the website, about the size of a grapefruit. And yet I could feel it all. And until I was again reminded that I had my hands on someone else, I could have absolutely kissed that baby.

I stepped away from her, but I couldn’t speak. I was sort of crying, though the tears weren’t actually falling, and I guess I was mostly just in awe of it all. I didn’t care about whether it was a boy or a girl. But I was suddenly aware of how incredibly stupid it would have been for me to name my child after members of my favorite boy band.

“Thanks for snapping me out of my name funk,” I told them.

Jeremy giggled and walked beside me, his arm around my shoulders. “Out of curiosity, what would you have named her if she’d been a girl?” he asked.

“Charlotte,” I said. “Charlotte Leigh. But I’d call her Charlie.”

“You know you can still name the baby Charlie, don’t you?”

It hadn’t occurred to me, but they were right.

We were silent for a while, and Kate let us know that the baby had finally settled down. “But now I need to pee,” she said. “Be right back.”

When she left, Jeremy looked at me with a smile. “So… Charlie?”

“Feels right,” I nodded.

“Charlie what?”

“I don’t know. We’ve got time to figure out his middle name.”

“And what about his last name?” He said, a little bit of hesitation in his voice.

“The Renner thing from earlier,” I said. “It just sort of slipped out. Of course his last name will be Fillmore.”

He nodded. “Okay, that’s fine. Just wanted to make sure so I know what to say when people ask.”

“What people?”

“You know. People.”

“Has someone been asking?”

“No.”

“Jeremy, you’re one of the best actors I’ve ever seen. But you absolutely cannot lie to me to save your miserable life, so tell me the truth.”

He hugged me closer. “Scarlett wasn’t exactly crazy about all this,” he said.

“It’s not Scarlett’s baby,” I told him.

“But if that technology existed for you to have a baby with her, you would, wouldn’t you?” He joked.

“Oh, in a heartbeat,” I admitted.

We could hear Kate coming down the stairs, and before she could come in the room, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Can I come to your room tonight?”

I pinched his butt and pushed him away from me with a smile. “You’d better.”


	18. Chapter 18

No matter how old you are, no matter what stage of life you’re currently experiencing, no matter how much or how little you’ve done in the span of years you’ve been granted thus far, you can remember something that impacted your life in an unforgettable way. Maybe it was a positive experience, maybe negative, maybe even devastating, but you can remember exactly where you were when you heard the news, what you were wearing, even how everything smelled. You can still taste that cereal you were munching or the song that was playing on the car radio or the look on the face of the person you were talking to. You remember everything as it was. Not necessarily because you wanted to, but because something inside you told you you’d never be the same again. And one tends to take subconscious mental notes in a time like that.

It was the second week of January, and Jeremy and I had just finished a day of overseeing the installation of tile in my home on Heywood. We were over the moon with how fast things were moving along, rejoicing in Kate’s exceptional health and the approaching birth of our Charlie Boy. I’d been informed in the past week that I would be honored at the Fashion in Film Awards, the Academy of Costume and Design Awards, and the Independent Spirit Awards (though the last one was simply because the film itself was being honored). The nominations I was told would be inevitable had come and gone, and with only Oscar nominations yet to be announced, I understood that perhaps Jamison had only been flattering me when he told me how successful I would be. Again, it was alright. The Clock on the Wall was an exceptional movie, even if it was in limited release and most people had never heard of it. It was an honor just to be a part.

At 5:02PM, Jeremy had just finished caulking the bathtub while I installed a light fixture in the kitchen. I thought I hear him calling my name suddenly, but I ignored it. If it was important, he’d come find me.

He did.

“Do you have your phone on you?” He asked.

“Left it in the car. Why?”

“I think you need to call Jamison.”

“Can you hand me the flathead? This Philips isn’t working.”

“Lana, call him. Now.”

“Why?”

When I looked at him finally, he was smiling like I’d never seen before. “Because your entire life is about to get really, really awesome.”

Another job offer? That would be awesome! I’d recently finished working on the first season of my TV show project, and aside from a few photoshoots and consultations, I’d been relatively jobless. Not that money wasn’t coming in, because it was. But I liked staying busy. So yeah, I should call him back.

“Can you dial and put it on speakerphone?”

“Honey, you should really come down here and call him.”  
“I’m almost done here! You told me never to leave a project half done, right? So call him and put him on speakerphone.”

He dialed Jamison’s Number and set the phone close to me. After only a half ring I heard the voice on the other end, and I asked him what was up. I was so casual.

“You haven’t been watching TV today?”

“No,” I answered. “Why?”

“And no one else has called you? No texts? No visits?”

“I’ve been at my new house since last night, and I left my phone in the car. So none of that. Why? Did something happen?”

He and Jeremy laughed a little at the same time, and Jeremy looked up at me with that shiny grin like I was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.

“What? Just tell me!”

“You’ve been nominated, Miss Fillmore,” Jamison said. “Congratulations.”

“Nominated for what?”

“For an Academy Award.”

I snapped the fixture into place just as he told me. A little bit of the pad of my finger got pinched between the brass ring and the drywall, but it only blistered. No bleeding. That was good. And hey, the room was sort of spinning. I kind of forgot what breathing was. I felt Jeremy’s hand on my back as he guided me down the stepladder and allowed me to lean against him.  
“Jamison Rhodes, if this is your idea of some sort of sick joke, I swear to god…”

“No Joke, Lana. In fact, I was over at your house earlier – or, well, what I thought was still your house – and I dropped off the notices. Thought you might like to have them.”

I should have said thank you, or at the very least goodbye, but I didn’t. I reached to the phone and ended the call, then fell right there to the floor at Jeremy’s feet.

“You okay?” He giggled.

“Holy fuckbasket,” I mumbled. “I’m nominated.”

“Looks like you’ll get your red carpet moment after all.”

And finally I was able to smile. In fact, I laughed. I laughed a lot and loudly until my cheeks hurt and my stomach cramped. He sat beside me and sort of let me laugh it all away, and I think by the smile on his face that he was elated just to see me this happy.

“What do I do now?” I asked him.

“Well you’ll probably get some phone calls from fashion magazines. Probably have some people begging you to look at their designs and give them some advertising. I don’t know. When I was nommed, it was a whole different kind of thing, but I’m thinking some of it’s going to be the same for you as it was for me.”

I nodded, and for some reason I looked at my hands. I don’t know why. I guess I just felt compelled to look at them.

“Now what do I do?” I asked him. “Should I be planning on wearing something different? Should I go to an actual designer for my gown? Should I have Kate use a real designer?”

“Baby, you are a real designer.”

“No, but you know. Someone established.”

“You’re nominated for an Oscar. You’re about as established as it gets.”

And that was when it hit me. I was an Oscar nominee, and I always would be. That shit doesn’t leave you.

“I think we should celebrate,” he said suddenly, prying the screwdriver from my hand as gently as he could and placing it back in the toolbox. “Somewhere nice. Where do you want to go? Pick a place.”

“I, um… I don’t know. I can’t think right now.”

“Any place at all,” he smiled. “I’m serious.”

“So am I, dude. I can’t think right now!”

“Well what are you in the mood for? Sushi? Italian?”

“I think I’m going to be too nervous to eat. In fact, I think I might go throw up right now.”

He chuckled a little and tossed his arm around me, carefully helping me to my feet before he just sort of went for it and brought me in for a hug. “Go home, shower, get dressed, and I’ll take you somewhere. It’ll be a surprise.”

“Oh, because I haven’t had enough surprises today?”

“No, because maybe you’ve got a lot going on, and I should make a decision for you so you don’t have to. How does that sound?”

I let go of him slowly and looked up to him. “Sounds good,” I nodded. “Fuck.”

“That expletive wasn’t necessary.”

“Don’t you fucking judge me!”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

…

I insisted I’d be too jittery to go out in public and eat, but Jeremy assured me consistently all the way home that it would be fine. And he also requested that I wear that red dress I’d bought in Chicago all those months ago.

I was too flabbergasted to say no to anything right now.

After soaking in a tub for almost two hours and getting myself calmed down to a satisfactory level, I dressed in that dress and smiled when I realized it was just barely too big. I must have lost a few pounds! But then… then I wasn’t smiling anymore. I really fucking loved that dress. I almost missed those rolls along my tummy that kept it up in a way my tiny boobs couldn’t.

I wouldn’t be able to wear the red dress after all. So I found my favorite leather circle skirt and a sweater I was fond of. It wasn’t as dressy as the red thing, but it was comfy. And right now, I needed comfort.

I could hear him walking around in his room. He never took this long to get ready for anything, and despite my better judgment, I decided to check up on him. I walked to the door and gently pushed it open, and I could see him standing in front of the mirror straightening his tie.

No. Wait…

His bowtie.

“Are you wearing a tux?” I asked. I was desperately trying not to giggle.

He looked at me in the reflection. “I was going to surprise you.”

“In a tux? Where the fuck are we going for dinner? The White House?”

“No, nothing like that.” He finished tying it and turned to face me. “How do I look?”

“Like a French waiter,” I replied. “Put your jacket on.”

As he slipped into the jacket, he looked me over curiously. “Hey, where’s the dress?”

“Doesn’t fit anymore,” I smiled proudly. “I got skinny.”

He shrugged but slowly smiled as he approached me. “I remember that skirt.”

“From what?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head.

“It’s not important,” he told me. “Shall we?”

“You’re gonna wear those rings, huh?”

He looked down at his hands. “Don’t I always?”

“Yep,” I nodded. “I guess a suggestion that you ditch them would prove fruitless, wouldn’t it?”

He slipped my arm into his and walked me down, and as soon as I’d grabbed my purse and he had his keys, we went out to the car and drove off into the night.

We’d been on the road for almost thirty minutes making small talk and swapping plans for the house before I realized we were sort of leaving civilization. When he turned to ask me if I wouldn’t mind turning off my phone, I had to ask what was up.

“I’m taking you somewhere kinda far,” he answered. “And I don’t want any distractions.”

I hadn’t even begun returning the calls and texts I’d been receiving all day, and I hadn’t planned on doing it tonight anyway. “Are you going to murder me?” I asked, shutting off the phone.

“Only if I have to,” he promised. “Better behave.”

“Behave? What fun is that?”

We had almost left the last small town before heading into what I had always referred to as “the wilderness” (simply because being from the city, I had almost never known there to be such a vast span of land so close to a city, and frankly it was almost scary). But before we took that road into the mountains, we pulled through a burger joint drive-thru and ordered a couple of hamburgers, fries, and milkshakes.

He didn’t explain, and I didn’t ask.

It wasn’t long before we were on one of those lookouts that I’d only ever seen in teen flicks and serial killer movies. He still didn’t say anything as he stepped out of the car, moved to my side, let me out, and asked me to join him on the hood of the car. All he asked was that I remove my heels before climbing on his “Baby.”

It had to have been at least fifteen degrees cooler up here than in that city that now lay at our feet. I was grateful that I’d worn a sweater, but I still accepted his jacket when he offered it. Though if I’m being honest, it wasn’t only because I was cold. We picked through our food pretty quickly – he gave me his tomatoes and I gave him my pickles – and then it was time for milkshakes.

“I’m assuming there’s some reason we got dressed up for this?” I asked finally. “Any time you’d like to explain, I’m all ears.”

“Yeah, there is. It would have worked better if you’d worn the dress, but it’s fine.”

“What would have worked better?”

He smiled a little and glanced my way, taking a long, loud sip from the shake before setting the cup on the roof of the car. “You’re going to spend about 8 hours in the most beautiful but most uncomfortable outfit you’ve ever worn. You’re going to be walking in it, posing in it, doing interviews in it, driving in a car in it, walking up to the stage in it, giving an acceptance speech in it…”

“Whoa, hold up there, buddy. Don’t jinx this for me.”

“Just listen,” he interrupted, his hand moving over mine to calm me down. “You’ll be eating in it, dancing in it, partying in it. I mean, you could bring a dress to change into for the parties, but in case you fall in love with whatever gown you decide to wear and convince yourself you don’t need a second outfit – which you will – you’ll have an awful lot of time spent in that dress. And you’re going to need to get used to that.”

His approach wasn’t exactly practical, but I applauded his effort. “Fine. We’ve eaten in our fancy clothes. Big deal.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

He hopped down from the car and reached to me, and I let him help me down as I could tell he was trying to do. “Dance,” he said. “Go ahead. Put your shoes back on and dance.”

“Jeremy, this is dumb. For one thing, we’ll be in a… you know, a place, you know. With real floors. No dirt and rocks, no impending doom over the cliff just a mere ten feet away like we have here. It will be a place with a roof and a floor and lots of places to sit.”

“You’re ruining this for me,” he said. He held his hand out to me. “I want to dance with you.”

“No music,” I said, taking his hand.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

I let him hold me and dance a little number. No, there wasn’t any music, and no, it wasn’t anywhere near as graceful as you see in those RomCom movies. We tripped over each other’s feet – and not in a cute way – and I bumped my shin on his fender. Not sure which he cared more about, my leg or the fender. Still we were able to laugh about it and goof around and… I don’t know.

It was nice.

“The tux suits you, J,” I winked. “You should wear it more often.”

“Yeah actually I think I’m gonna start running in it. Class up my workout game.”

“Good,” I laughed. And I pulled him by his sleeve closer to the car.

With his hand on my waist, he leaned in and laid a soft kiss to my lips. And that was all it is. Soft and chaste and fucking terrible. I wanted more. And he knew it.

“So come on,” I said once I realized I wouldn’t be getting more than that kiss. “There has to be a real reason you brought me out here.”

“There is,” he shrugged. “I already told you.”

“No, come on. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

A little smile traced his lips, but he stuck with his story. “I just want you to be ready for the big day.”

He was almost impish like this. The light of the half-moon shone on his face and his eyelashes seemed so long it was intimidating to look at. He’s not allowed to be prettier than me. We’d had that discussion. “Well I don’t believe you,” I said. “But thank you.”

“If you don’t believe me, why are you thanking me?”

“Because tonight was fun no matter your reason. And you ate a burger, fries, and a milkshake. I know a certain nutritionist who’s gonna have a cow about that.”

“Ah, she’s not eyeing me like she will be in another month.” He walked me to my side of the car. “You ready to go?”

“Where?” I asked.

“Home.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

The drive back home was almost as silent as the one there, but this time I had my hand in his. So, you know, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable. In fact, nothing seemed more right or more natural than him and me, here and now, my hand in his.

…

We’d gotten home and I slipped out of my heels the first chance I got. I made a few comments at him about how I wanted to design something for his mom to wear to the Oscars, and he said he thought that might be nice. I told him about a Tom Ford suit I thought he’d look amazing in. He said he’d consider it. I told him I was thinking of wearing red for the big night. He told me nothing beats the way I look in that color. And by the end of that discussion, we were upstairs. Too soon, in my opinion.

I had my back to the door and he was standing in front of me. His lapel was sloppily situated on his chest and his bowtie was undone, as was I. I should have just gone back into my room alone. I shouldn’t have done anything but that. But I never really listen to my instincts.

“I want to be with you tonight,” he spoke quietly, his eyes wide as they peered into mine, not a trace of lust in them.

I slowly extended my reach his way and held loosely onto the front of his jacket. “We promised last week that we were done.” We promised this almost every week, it seemed.

“But we didn’t know it then,” he countered. “If I’d known that was our last time, I would have made it count.”

I had to smile at this and stare sheepishly at the floor. “You were good.”

“Good? I was good?” He was laughing, but there was just the slightest hint of frustration in his voice. “No, no. Last time sex isn’t supposed to be good. It’s supposed to be fucking amazing. It’s supposed to have you screaming and walking with a limp for two weeks after. Last time sex is… mind-blowing. It’s something we never had, and I’d just like to go on record as saying that I would like some last-time sex right about now. Or whenever you’re ready.”

I slipped the tie out from his collar and tucked it in my pocket. “Okay,” I whispered. “But you’d better keep your promise.”

He grinned and pressed our noses together, reaching beside me to turn the handle and open my bedroom door. His hands were soon on my body again, sliding down my back and over the curve of my hips before they rounded under my ass and urged me to straddle him as he lifted me to his waist. Once I had my legs wrapped around him, he allowed himself the chance to cradle my face as he kissed me, and I could already taste how differently tonight would go.

“Lana,” he whispered, still holding my face and now looking me in the eye. “I—”

“No, no,” I interrupted. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay? How about we don’t talk tonight, hm?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Okay.”

He kissed me again and continued to do so as he walked me toward the bed. When his knees hit the mattress, he laid me down and bent over me, kissing me on the neck now. And it seemed he remembered that when he kissed me on the neck, my body was practically limp in complete resign to his touch.

I ran my fingers through that glorious hair and kissed his forehead. My legs were still wrapped around him, and I urged him closer. “Come on,” I whispered. “Get in the bed.”

He smiled at me. “You said no talking.”

Before I could think of a clever reply or a way to excuse my own behavior, his fingers were curling under the waistline of my skirt and searching for the zipper. “It’s on the side,” I murmured.

“Okay, if you get to talk, I get to talk,” he spoke in a laugh, definitely breaking the rule. “One last chance – are we talking or aren’t we?”

I slapped his face playfully. “Fine. Just don’t say anything stupid.”

“I love when you talk dirty.”

I ended up helping him with the zipper, and he pulled it off just before my legs were around him again. I could now feel the cold metal of those ridiculous rings he insisted on wearing that night with his tuxedo despite my advice, and they were now on the hands that were making their way up my body, creeping under my shirt and finding my bra. And when he did find it, the cold metal turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

I wrapped my fingers around the short chain he wore on his neck and pulled him down into another kiss. “You gonna eat me out, love?”

He kissed my cheek. “That’s the plan.”

“What are you waiting for?” I teased. I played my toes over his calves, well aware of his little foot fetish and the way he loved how it felt when I did that sort of thing.

He moved his body back down and kissed my stomach. “I want to get you naked first.”

I could easily comply, I figured. “Fine,” I mumbled in a probably failed attempt to mask my excitement with disappointment. “Guess I can’t blame you.”

He pulled my sweater over me and tossed it carelessly behind him. His lips were now on my collarbone, and his fingers were fumbling inexpertly with the hook of my bra. “You know how to do this!” I giggled. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“This is supposed to be romantic, dammit!” he laughed. “God, it’s too hard. Just slip it over your head, will you?”

I shimmied out of the bra and kept my arms raised over my head, my body now completely his with no intention of reserving it for any other purpose. It was like he was looking at my tits for the first time the way his eyes seemed to savor them, and his hands cupped them with care. “My god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Usually I gave the “aw, shucks” sort of answer. But this time I was quiet. And I kind of wanted to cry.

Even though he was still more or less fully clothed (He’d managed to get himself out of his jacket sometime between entering the room and dropping me into the bed), I could feel how hard he was when his body pinned me down in the glorious way it did now. He was ready. So why didn’t he just fuck me and get it over with?

His lips were back on my stomach, and I came to the sudden realization that he was making his way south, and rapidly. He mouthed me over the crotch of my panties, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his head, reaching one hand into his hair while the other… well, it just sort of tried to keep me stable. “Oh my god…” I muttered.

His eyes flashed up to me, and I should have given him some sort of pleased smile or something, but instead I pushed his head back down. He didn’t complain – in fact he seemed to like it – and he continued teasing me and biting the lace away from my skin. He knew full well what I wanted, but that little shit wasn’t going to give it to me. Not yet.

His fingers wrapped around my ankles and gently pulled my legs off of him, setting my feet together down in front of him while he stood and then held my hips in his hands. It seemed he had my panties off in a second, and maybe he did. I was too busy noticing the bulge in his pants to pay attention to my own business.

He opened my legs as wide as they would go and knelt again, kissing inside my thighs, one then the other, until his mouth met my pussy and he was kissing me there, too. When his tongue started flicking over my clit, I wanted to close my legs around his body again, but he kept them open. And honestly, I’ve never come so fast in my life.

Maybe it was his sudden control and exertion of power, or maybe he was just really especially amazing at tongue-fucking. Or maybe both. But either way, in my mind I was making note of everything he did. I decided that no one would ever be allowed to give me head again if they didn’t do it exactly like that.

He mouthed my clit again and this time absolutely buried his face there, his thumbs on my upper thighs and slowly making their way inside to press the sensitive parts of me in the way he knew I loved. And if only his memory of everything was as good as his memory of what made me come for him, we probably wouldn’t have broken up.

Because my god, he missed a lot of important things back then.

Once his left hand found my crotch, he began rubbing against my clit and I was literally screaming. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him over me. “Oh my god, Jeremy, if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to kill you.”

He smiled and kissed my lips, his fingers still rubbing over me lightly. “One more time,” he said, biting his lip. “Come on.”

“Okay,” I answered. And he made me come one more time like that before he let me open up his shirt.

Afterward, he pulled me further into the bed and crawled over my body. I wanted him to fuck me, but I had to admit I was digging the way he was taking his time tonight.

“This tux isn’t a rental, is it?” I whispered.

“Nah, I own it,” he answered, his mouth on my neck and currently working on leaving a little mark there.

I ripped open the shirt, buttons flying everywhere including my eye, and it hurt more in embarrassment than it did physically, but it was worth it. I stripped back the shirt and he buried his face in my chest while he laughed. “You really are out of practice,” he mumbled against my skin.

“Out of practice my ass! You’re the one I’ve been fucking. What does that say about you?”

“You want it rough?” He smiled. “Yeah?” He gripped my shoulders and flipped me over on top of him. “Show me what you’ve got, then.”

“I’m not gonna tie you up now! You had so many opportunities to get tied up by me before, and you never let me!”

“There are ropes in the basement.”

“No!” I giggled. “Next time.”

He reached up and stroked my cheek, resting his hand on my neck. “Next time?”

Right.

“Well I guess you’ll never get the DomLana experience,” I smiled. I held his hands in mine and moved my ass over his cock teasingly to try not to dwell on it anymore. “I will ride you, though, if you want.”

He nodded. “Take it slow, mama.”

I moved off of him just long enough to slide his pants down his legs and palm his erection over his boxer briefs. “Can I suck your dick first?”

“Guess so,” he shrugged, winking at me.

“Do I still have to be gentle?”

“I didn’t say gentle. I said slow.”

“Well what fun is that?”

“Just… do it,” he smirked.

I pulled back his underwear and immediately joined my lips to his shaft. I took him in as deeply as I always did, and he relaxed against the sheets and tossed his arms over his head as I did my work. God, I was grateful for the maintenance he had been keeping on his body. Grateful my hands could run over actually defined, toned muscles as they did now. Grateful he had the stamina for this. Grateful he felt comfortable enough with me to giggle his way through some of the best sex I’d ever had.

It wasn’t long before my body began to crave his touch again, and I straddled him with ease, riding his cock slowly just as he’d asked me to do. He ran his hands up my thighs and looked me in the eye with something of a satisfied look in his eye. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes because looking at him seemed strange somehow after the compliment. My palms found his hard pecs and settled there as I changed up my position just slightly. He guided my hips on him, reminding me again to move slowly.

And then I opened my eyes. And we were looking at each other in a way we never had before. His hands were on my body, but not in an aggressive manner. We were having sex but it wasn’t purely for the sake of scratching an itch. We were together, but there was something more to it. There was something more to us.

It seemed almost as if he was begging for something I wouldn’t give him. And if he’d only tell me what, I would have done my best to give it to him. I moved faster because I had to. I thought I’d had my last orgasm a while before, but now I wanted this one last time. And I wanted him to come with me.

He didn’t seem to mind my urgency, and he held my hands again as we moved together and I was calling his name under my breath. He made moans and whispers of “God, yes!” And I loved the way he squirmed beneath me as he met his end. I came and fell over his body, and he wrapped his arms around me, thrusting only a few more times before I could feel the heat spilling between our bodies.

His arms tightened and I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. He was all I wanted now, and if I had to sacrifice oxygen, so be it. I felt his lips play against my ear and he was speaking. It was so soft. It was so sudden.

“I love you so much.”

I wanted to reply, but I knew that if I wasn’t saying the same thing back – which I wasn’t – that I had better not speak at all. Instead I rolled away and stayed beside him, burying my face against his arm.

“Lana,” he whispered as he turned to his side to see me. “I mean it. I love you. Please, let’s give it another try.”

“Don’t do this,” I told him firmly but quietly. My eyes were closed tightly because I couldn’t bear to look at him.

His hand gripped my arm and he pressed his lips to my forehead. “I can’t lose you again,” he told me. His voice was trembling and even cracking as he said it. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I need you, Lana. I really do need you.”

“Why are we doing this now?” I whined. I opened my eyes and sat up and reached for whatever was close to wrap myself up in.

“Because you need to know. I love you so much, Lana. I love you, and I need you, and… and god fucking dammit, I would do anything, okay? You wanna move back to Chicago? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

“God, Jeremy, it’s not about that anymore!” I shouted at him. I didn’t mean to be so loud, but there it was, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. “It’s over now, okay? Nice, clean break, just like we said.”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to be with me? Not even a little?”

“Of course I do!” I was shouting and I shouldn’t have been. “Of course I want to be with you, Jeremy! It’s all I want! But… but I can’t let you fuck me over again.”

“It’ll be different this time. You don’t have to compromise, okay? I’ll go wherever you go.”

“Oh right, then I’m the bitch who ended your career? No thank you.”

“You know I wouldn’t think that way.”

“But everyone else would,” I said. “Look, I… I care about you so much. I do. And having a baby with you is a dream I never thought would become a reality. I stand by everything I said about wanting to have a baby with you. You’re always my first choice. You know how I feel. But I cannot take the chance of being hurt by you again, okay? I can’t do it.”

“You don’t think I’m serious?”

“I think you’re settling.”

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. But he didn’t say a word.

“I think you should go back to your room,” I told him quietly.

He nodded, then looked at me with tears forming in his eyes. “You wore that skirt the first night we were together,” he said. “And you look even more beautiful than that night.”

This was when I was supposed to melt, but as always, I deflected. “Cheeseball.”

“Asshole.”

“Go to your room,” I smiled. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

He forced a smile. Hell, we were both forcing it and faking it lately it seemed. We clearly weren’t happy unless we were fucking, and now we couldn’t even do that anymore without it turning into a fucking soap opera. He left the bed and slipped into his boxers, made his way to the door, then looked at me one last time before he left.

“Night, Banana,” he said.

“Night, Jeremy.”

I thought I’d be tired but I wasn’t. He’d basically told me he’d give up his career for me, and I shot him down.

I turned down Jeremy Renner.

What was I thinking?

I left the bed to straighten myself up a bit, then picked up his clothes from the floor. And when I found his pants, I could feel something in the pocket.

Jeremy’s no packrat. He’s about as neat and organized as it gets, and in that way it’s easy to tell at any given moment or occasion what he’s got on him. He shouldn’t have had anything in that pocket.

I palmed around the shape of it. And when I realized it was a box, my heart sort of stopped for a moment.

I was too scared to peek inside and confirm what I believed to be true.


	19. Chapter 19

I had spent the past three days sulking around the houses while Jeremy avoided me. He didn’t need to, but of course he did. I guess I can see why. It must be pretty embarrassing to tell someone you love them and not hear it back. I wouldn’t know.

I’m laughing now. See, it’s funny because the shoe had been on the other foot just a couple years before.

There were a few times when I considered sending him a text just to let him know that I was still around. That I wasn’t upset or angry and that I wasn’t going to look at him a different way now. A profession of love is so mundane anymore. It’s not what it used to be. If he’d made this profession say, oh I don’t know, a year and a half ago? Yeah. I’d totally go for it.

But it was now. And it wasn’t the right time.

I was grateful that he’d purchased the paint for the dining room – a pale gray color since that seems to be his favorite color in the world judging by the way he chooses to dress himself. The yellow chevron curtains and floral accents would actually make the room stand out, and though I’d thought at first of how proud I was of my styling choices, I knew all along that it really was Jeremy who’d chosen the palette. I’d just been too arrogant to let him revel in it.

With one wall finished and the other two still lacking that last coat they needed, I decided to take a break and walked to the kitchen for lunch. I grabbed my phone from the counter where it had been charging, and when I saw a missed call with a Miami, Florida area code, I was admittedly a bit confused. I’d been receiving congratulatory calls and job offers for three days now, but this wasn’t a number I knew. But since they hadn’t left a voicemail, I sort of shrugged it off and set it back down and ate my salami on rye while I looked over a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

Only moments later, my phone rang again, and when I saw the Miami number, I figured I’d have to answer it. Whoever it was was calling multiple times within an hour. It must be important.

“Hello?” I asked, my lips lightly coated with Dijon mustard.

“Lana?”

“This is she.”

“Is this Lana Fillmore?”

“Yes… Who’s this?”

“Lana Reagan Fillmore?”

No one even used my middle name. Not my real one, anyway. “Who is this?”

“It’s your mom,” she answered.

I really couldn’t reply. It wasn’t my mouth full of salami or the lack of words in my mind, but rather the overabundance of responses I could have given. “Shut the fuck up,” I said finally.

“Well that’s direct,” she chuckled. “Surprise!”

I didn’t know what to say, so I ended the call.

You need to remember I hadn’t seen my mom, spoken to her, heard from her in years. Years. I tried to contact her for Gramma’s funeral, but my letters and voicemails went unanswered. And of course, she never showed up. The last time I’d seen her must have been ten years before, maybe more. It was Christmas, I think. And honestly, that’s the extent of that memory of her. I know she was present that Christmas. But I don’t remember anything else.

My phone rang again almost immediately, and I answered even though I knew better.

“Mom, what’s the deal? Why?”

“Why what, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Sorry.”

“Mom, why are you calling me? You’re a little late on getting back to me about your mother’s funeral, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I was silent, waiting for her to elaborate on just how sorry she was, but nothing followed. “Why?”

“Your relationship with your grandmother was very different from my relationship with her. She wasn’t the mother to me that she was to you.”

“Mom, you’re not calling me to spew bullshit about Gramma. Why are you really calling? Because if you don’t tell me, I’m not going to stay on this call.”

“I heard about you on TV,” she said. “I heard about your Oscar.”

“I don’t have an Oscar,” I answered. “But it’s nice to know you suddenly have an interest in me.”

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve been trying to reach you for months! I actually went to Merrillville to surprise you, but you’d moved out. And no one would tell me where you were, so I came back home. Imagine my surprise when I heard your name announced on TV a few days ago!”

I really did want to give her the benefit of the doubt, but this was just so typical. No one is ever important unless she thinks they can be of some use to her. That’s what Gramma had always told me.

“Why did you want to see me?” I asked.

“Because I knew you must be having a rough time since your Grandmother passed, and I wanted to be there for you. I still want that. Would you mind if I came to see you?”

“I would, actually,” I told her firmly, and I was breathing heavier than usual to keep from crying. “I’m very busy these days. You should have decided to catch up with me some time during the last thirty years, not save it all up for when my name is mentioned on TV.”

“That’s not what this is, honey. I hope you don’t really think that!”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

She was silent again, and I would have felt sorry for her if I wasn’t so absolutely pissed off.

“The truth is I’d at least like to talk to you about it all in person,” she said. “I’m not going to say you owe me that, but it would certainly be the right thing to do.”

“Why?”

“Because even the worst mother in the world should get a chance to look her child in the eye and tell them she’s sorry.”

I guess she knew, as did I, that I would eventually say yes. She just wanted to know if I would say it right away, or if I would make her go through some sort of rigmarole first. “You’re gonna be in town here? LA?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Rocco and I—”

“Rocco? No. No Rocco, no men, none of your newest boyfriend or sugar daddy or whatever the hell he is. Just you.”

“Rocco’s not a boyfriend, honey.”

“Well whatever he is, I don’t want him.”

“But—”

“How badly do you want to do this, ma? Because I’m this close to calling it off altogether!”

“Fine, fine!” She agreed. “Just me. Tell me where and when.”

Deciding when was simple enough. My schedule would be open all week. But where was different. I wasn’t going to bring her to either house, certainly not around Kate, who would be flying back into town the next day. I wasn’t going to let her know about Jeremy if I could help it, but perhaps that was inevitable. Sending Mom to a local joint, something like a Johnny L’s, for example, seemed downright cruel as she would have to navigate a city she didn’t know. Or maybe she did know it. For all I knew, she lived here! She simply never told me anything, only occasionally sending a holiday or birthday card when she could remember, and of course nothing since I’d moved out here.

“You’re flying in?” I asked.

“Yes. Tonight.”

“What time?”

“My flight lands at 4:10AM,” she told me.

With a sigh, I asked if she minded if I picked her up, and she said she thought that would be wonderful. We’d get coffee or breakfast or something, and she could tell me what she had to say and hit me up for money or whatever it was she was after, and we could move on.

Easy peasy.

“I’ll see you then,” she told me. “I love you, honey.”

I ended the call. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for that.

There just feet away sat the paint tray with the roller rapidly drying, and I couldn’t find it in me even to put it all away to keep it from getting ruined. It wasn’t helping my mood that the only color I could see was gray, bland, sad. Neutral, Jeremy would say. But not right now. Now it was sad, and I needed to get out.

It didn’t seem like there was anything at all that I could do to get my mind off the stress of talking to mom. I wasn’t hungry, I couldn’t drink, I was far too jittery to do anything productive with my hands, and if I’d had Jeremy to cry to at least, maybe it wouldn’t have been so fucking hard. Anytime anything comes up, it’s him I go to. It’s his shoulder I cry on. It’s his arms around me. It’s his scent, the scent of cigarettes and leather, the occasional peppermint aftertaste of his kisses, it’s that that comforts me.

But I was alone. Time to be a big girl.

The nice thing about the west coast, if there is just one nice thing I can say about it, is that it’s got no shortage of beaches. I’m not much of a swimmer, and in January, it’s hardly swimming weather. But I needed to see something that reminded me that there’s a force more powerful than the stupid problems that plague my ordinary, plain, gray life.

I stood with my toes two inches under the sand and wrapped myself up in my hoodie. His hoodie. Goddammit, I didn’t even have my own hoodie. I watched everyone else there, and though there weren’t many, they were all so domestic. It wasn’t babe-picking season. It was family picnic season. It was families with smiles. It was everything I didn’t have.

With every family I saw, I wrapped up tighter in his scent. When did 65 degrees become cold for me? That’s a pleasant spring day back home!

But maybe it wasn’t the weather. Maybe it was something else that made me want to wrap myself up in him.

It was time to call him.

…

Voicemail #1 – 2:13PM: I don’t want to leave you voicemails, Jeremy. Answer your fucking phone.

Voicemail #2 – 2:45PM: Oh my god, where could you possibly be that’s more important than being in a place where you can talk to me?

Voicemail #3 – 4:07PM: You need to answer you phone, dude. This is ridiculous. We aren’t 16, okay? We’re fucking grown-ups! We can talk!

Voicemail #4 – 5:20PM: Are you avoiding me? Look, it’s not like anything’s really changed. I think we can deal with this. I really need you, okay? I need you. I want to drink but I know I shouldn’t and I want to die, and I can’t really just do that, and I want to run away but I have nowhere to go. I got a call from my mom today. She’s coming in town. No one in the world knows the shit I go through because of her like you do, so I really, really need you! Stop avoiding me, grow the fuck up, and call me back!

Voicemail #5 – 6:22PM: I might have overreacted. I’ve had some time to think about it, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to have me bringing all my problems to you, it’s just that I had no one to talk to. But I’m okay. I’m not drunk or dying or running away, just so you know. I’m just sad. But I’m okay. I hope you’re okay. See ya around. Love ya.

…

I got home just ten minutes after the last voicemail, set my alarm for 3AM, and fell asleep almost immediately. Crying will do that to you. But when my alarm went off, my eyes were so swollen that I could hardly see, and they were crusty and achy and I wanted to go back to sleep immediately. But a promise is a promise, and a clouded mind might actually be better for doing this sort of thing, I figured. I showered, tied my damp hair into a frizzy bun, didn’t bother with makeup, and wore Jeremy’s hoodie again as I walked out of my room. I needed him with me again, even if this was the only way.

As I made my way down the stairs, I could see a familiar figure in the armchair, even in the shadows of the darkened living room. Of course I knew it was Jeremy, and I wish there had been a way to walk by without him seeing me.

“Sorry,” he mumbled just as I’d reached the bottom of the stairs. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “I was in a bad mood.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Do I look okay?”

He smirked and looked back at the TV. “I’m not gonna answer that one.”

“I know I look like hell. It’s okay.”

“What are you doing awake, anyway? Going for a run?”

“A run?” I laughed. “Are you crazy? No, I’m meeting my mom at the airport, then I’m taking her for… I don’t know. Coffee or something.”

“Your mom?”

I nodded.

“Need company?”

“Seriously?”

He stood and fetched his shoes from the entry. “Yeah. I’ll drive.”

“I told you I didn’t drink.”

“I know you didn’t, but you look tired. You can sleep.”

“Telling me I look tired is just a slightly less blunt way of saying I look like shit.”

After he’d slipped into his shoes and grabbed his hat, he looked my way. “Sleep or no sleep, Banana?”

I grabbed his keys from the bowl and threw them to him. “Sleep,” I smiled. “Thank you.”

…

I woke in the parking lot of the airport with a throbbing headache. Jeremy was shaking my shoulder, and the hood over my head was doing little to keep my hair from my face. I looked like a hoodlum, like someone who’d just had their eyes punched out. I looked ridiculous, and my mood had only worsened since I looked in the mirror and felt the pain plaguing my cranium. He reached into the glove compartment, grabbed a couple of aspirin from the bottle, and handed them to me.

“I can’t do this,” I sighed, gulping them down dry.

“You can,” he insisted. “I’ll come with, and if things get crazy, I’ll bring you home.”

“What time is it?”

He pointed to the clock. “4:03.”

“Good. I’ve got some time.”

“I’d go in with you if I could,” he said. “It’s just… you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Famous guy. Paps. I get it.”

“Mind if I smoke?” He asked.

I rolled down my window. “Just aim it outside.” But as soon as he started, I found myself reaching for the pack and grabbing one for myself.

“What does she want, anyway?” He asked finally.

“She says she wants to apologize. Catch up. I don’t fucking know.”

“And you’re ready for that?”

“No, I’m not ready for that!” I answered. “But I’d like to get it over with.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He blew a puff of smoke out into the air, and some of it backfired back into the car. It looked like our car was smoking, and that’s not great in an airport parking lot, so I flicked the butt out even though I was barely halfway through it.

“Thanks for coming with,” I said timidly. “I’m sorry about all the phone calls.”

“It’s fine. I was editing all day, so I couldn’t really get to my phone.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you had that.”

“I really wish I had been able to be there, though. I mean, when you called. But see? You don’t need me!”

“Don’t say that. I so need you.”

“No,” he replied firmly. “You don’t. You proved that.”

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need to be so adamant about it.”

“But I want you,” I said. “You know, like a football game doesn’t need pizza and beer. And a birthday doesn’t need cake and ice cream. And, like, I don’t need anything but oxygen and food and shelter, really. But what’s a game without pizza and a birthday without cake? It’s as useless as me without you.”

He looked at me, just looked, and didn’t look away until he’d smoked down to the filter and the ashes fell onto his seat, and he had to look away because he had to throw away the cigarette. When he looked back, he was smiling, but he said nothing. He did nothing. He just looked at me for a moment, then looked at the clock.

“Yeah, I know. I should go in there.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said. “You’ve got this.”


	20. Chapter 20

Finding Mom was relatively easy. She was seated at a table near the Starbucks with an inordinate amount of luggage beside her, her Hermes bag on her elbow, and the largest-framed sunglasses I’d ever seen in my life. She had always thought she looked like Audrey Hepburn, but she was wrong. She looked like a dragonfly.

It seemed Mom was doing well. Everything she wore was expensive, new, and overdone. Her hair was dyed an unconvincingly deep black, but the cut was flawless. Her nose was different than the last time I’d seen her. Maybe her lips, too, but it was hard to tell until I got close enough for her to notice I was standing there.

“You ready?” I asked. I avoided looking at her, but it happened anyway. And yeah, those lips were definitely new.

“Lana!” She stood to her feet and wrapped her arms around me. She smelled like Chanel.

“Hey, Mom,” I gave in. I hugged her back, I suppose, but it meant nothing to me. I wanted to leave. I wanted to never have come here at all. “Are you ready to go?”

“I thought we could just get coffee here,” she said as she broke away. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You should have told me. I… I have someone with me, so we’ll need to go somewhere else. He can’t be hanging out in here.”

“Oh, is he too good for the airport Starbucks?”

With a straight face I answered, “Yes.”

She didn’t like my response, and I don’t blame her. I was being kind of a bitch. But in that moment it seemed justified, so I didn’t care.

“Alright,” she agreed. She wasn’t really in any position to fight with me about it. “Let me just get Rocco and we’ll go.”

She turned and called for Rocco, and I guess I wasn’t exactly surprised that he was barely 21, dressed in only the best, currently preoccupied with an iPad and pacing around shamelessly eyeing every woman that passed. I’d seen enough of these couples in LA: the young rich boy and his older female benefactor, and Mom was the woman living off of alimony or an inheritance. And I wouldn’t know which it was because I didn’t even know her. Still, Rocco was especially childish. And then I remembered something Freud had once said about reclaiming your youth through sex, and I figured that’s what was going on here. I mean, mom was only 15 when I came along and ruined her life. I guess I couldn’t blame her.

I led them out and into the lot, and I could find Jeremy again by following the trail of smoke I knew must be billowing from the very source. Sure enough there he sat, two additional butts on the ground outside his window like he’d had one after the other. I didn’t bother actually asking him to help with the luggage, just rapping on the back window until he popped the trunk and then trusting Rocco to do it. Rocco, who’d probably never done a day’s work in his life. As soon as I could, I found my way up front to my seat and buckled in silently, but aggressively enough for my dismay to be obvious. As if it needed to be. And after a moment, the two of them were sitting in back and we were leaving and the silence was so dreadfully oppressive I could have screamed just to have something to listen to.

“Where’re we going?” Jeremy mumbled finally.

“I don’t care. Whatever’s open.”

“There’s not much around here. Uh… there’s a Denny’s.”

“Fine.”

“Really? I was joking.”

But no, Denny’s was perfect. She’d be so uncomfortable there. So out of place. Rocco would probably shit his pants. No one would want to stay any longer than they had to. It was perfect. “Let’s go to Denny’s.”

He didn’t question, and either Mom didn’t hear or didn’t feel comfortable arguing, and I was fine with both. We pulled into the lot and I left the car, walking over to Jeremy’s side of the car before he was even able to quite shut it off and get out himself. 

“You okay?” He asked. “I mean, we don’t have to do this. I can take care of it if you want. I can explain to her…”

“No,” I said. “It’s fine. Go in and get a table. I think it might take a second for her to get out here.”

“There’s no rush. I’ll wait with you.” He walked to her door and opened it, and as soon as she stepped out, she removed her glasses for the first time and looked at him. I knew she could tell who he was. And I might have been wrong about which one of our two guests would be the one shitting their pants.

“I’m Jeremy,” he smiled, and he extended his hand for her to shake.

“I know who you are,” she answered. “You’re brilliant.”

“Well that’s very nice of you to say. Your daughter has your eyes.”

She was clearly out of words when she heard this, but I wasn’t.

“For now,” I responded.

She only held on to Jeremy’s hand and barely looked my way when she heard my remark. “Rocco,” she called. “We’re going in. Come on.”

God. Little freak has a mommy kink. I was not in any way ready for that.

Jeremy still graciously held my mom’s hand even when they weren’t shaking anymore. She was acting like a little old lady crossing the street or something, but in reality, she wasn’t even quite 50. She was more than capable of walking on her own. She was touching him and no one’s allowed to touch him. No one’s allowed to hold his hand. My mom is not allowed to hold his hand.

I already wanted to cry, and we were only five minutes into our visit. I walked ahead of them, figuring that if they were making such fast friends of each other, they wouldn’t mind if I sort of escaped to find a table. They probably wouldn’t have minded if I disappeared completely. Especially when Mom started listing all of her favorite moments from Jeremy’s career, and Rocco even threw in a “Hey, you’re in a lot of movies. Cool.”

We sat in the back. We didn’t really expect photographers in this part of town at this time of night, especially since we were in one of the cars he never took anywhere and were with two other people. But still, sitting in back seemed like the thing to do. It had become habit.

We settled in, and Jeremy sat beside me, finally giving my mom a reason to let go of him. Mom sat across from me in the booth, and I was pleased to see she wasn’t too scared of touching the table or the seats. Clearly her roots hadn’t completely been severed. Rocco was only slightly worse. He sat and now toyed with a phone, and I wondered how my mom put up with him. Not that she deserved any better in my opinion, but I would think a woman who looked like she did and had her kind of money would have a little more respect for herself.

But then, if I let myself think about it too much I knew I would lose it.

We all got coffee, and at the start there was some small talk between Mom and Jeremy. She asked about his renovation business. He asked about Florida. They discussed weather. They discussed travel. They even discussed interior design. And there I sat with no idea how to butt in and demand to be attended to. You just can’t make people listen to you.

“Speaking of things that are broken,” I interrupted at last (I think they’d been discussing the roof on his most recent project). “What was it that you wanted to say, Mom? I mean, since there are four of us here tonight and we might as well just get it all out.”

All eyes were on me now, including Rocco’s. “Well,” she started, looking carefully at the others around us. “I feel terrible about everything, and I want to tell you how sorry I am.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When?” I repeated. “When did you feel terrible about everything? Was it before or after you saw that I was doing well for myself?”

“I think I’m gonna have a smoke outside,” Jeremy said just then.

“Me too,” Rocco joined. 

“Don’t you dare!” We both ordered at our respective companions.

“Tell me, Mom. Look, I just want the truth. Tell me.”

I felt sort of bad at first after I asked, but only for a second or two. “I have always regretted the way things were with us,” she said. “I always wanted to make it right, but I just couldn’t while my mother was around. Believe me, I tried.”

“Mom, you’re not gonna sit here and say shit about Gramma. I told you I won’t listen to it.”

“You need to,” she insisted, and for the first time she seemed almost angry. “Your grandmother was not the saint she made you believe she was. She was a cold-hearted, selfish bitch.”

Jeremy and Rocco left the table as soon as she said this, and I was actually glad.

“Mom, you can’t say that. You didn’t even live with us.”

“I lived with her for 18 years. I know her.”

“Mom…”

“She made me give you up. Did you know that? She made me give her sole parental rights. And when I came back for you, she told me I couldn’t have you. She even chose your name. I had no control at all, Lana.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“She hated me!” She shrieked. Thankfully the restaurant was basically empty and there was no one to stare, though I did find at this moment that Jeremy and Rocco were outside smoking in direct view of us.

“She didn’t hate you!” I answered. “She always talked about you!”

“But she told you that I abandoned you after I went to college, didn’t she? Did you know I came up here three times to get you back, and she told me I’d have to take her to court to get you. And I wasn’t going to do that to you.”

“Maybe that’s true,” I gave in. “But she was only looking out for me.”

“She didn’t want you being raised by a black man,” she said. “That’s what it was. She never forgave me for having a black baby. She always said it was a mercy you had light skin. And when I married my husband, she told me she would die before she’d let a black man raise you. That’s the kind of woman she was.”

I couldn’t believe this. Even if it was true, I would never let myself believe it. “She’s gone, Mom,” I told her, tears clouding my sight until I raised a napkin to wipe them away. “Can you please just stop talking about her like that?”

She nodded, and I could see she felt bad about what she was saying. But I’m also pretty good at telling when I’m being lied to – god knows I have plenty of experience for reference – and I didn’t think she was lying. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need you to know that I do love you. I always have.”

“We have a lot of issues,” I told her. “And I’m sorry, but this seems like a strange time for you to come around wanting to resolve them. I mean, we don’t talk. Ever. I haven’t heard from you in a very long time. You didn’t come to the woman’s funeral. Even if you hated her, you should have known how hard it was for me, and you didn’t come. You weren’t there for me.” And I started to cry again. “Why was no one there for me when I needed everyone?”

“Maybe because you needed to get through it alone. You needed to learn that you don’t need anyone but yourself.”

“Hell of a way to learn the lesson.”

She hesitantly reached out her hand to mind, and I almost didn’t let her touch me. But there is a comfort that a daughter never forgets, and I could feel it. Like I was two years old and she was washing my hair. Like I was newly born and she was reading me Dr. Seuss. Like she still remembered what moms do, even if she’d never gotten to do it for very long.

“Are you dating him?” She asked.

I looked out the window and saw him standing there, laughing with Rocco about a subject I knew I would never care about. “No,” I answered. “It’s complicated.”

“But you’ve slept with him.”

“Mom!”

“You have. I can tell.”

“Mom, please. It’s no one’s business. I can’t even talk about it.”

“He loves you. I can tell that, too.”

At that moment, Jeremy looked over to me and shrugged, and I smiled in reply. “I know,” I said.

“So what’s going on with you two? I’m not asking as a fan. I’m asking as your mom.”

“And as your daughter, I’m telling you that it’s complicated. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Honey, I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. It’s going to take time. I know that. But… but can we work on it?”

I finally looked at her again and nodded. “I’ll try. But… you can’t just bring random guys around when you want to talk to me. I mean, if I thought he was here for support I wouldn’t mind, but clearly he doesn’t give two fucks about this. Look at him. What is he, twelve?”

“He’s 22,” she said. “He’s almost done with college. And I didn’t bring him here for support, Lana. I brought him here to meet you.”

“Ew, no, Mom… No. Just… no. I don’t want to meet him. You won’t even know him in a month.”

“That’s pretty unlikely,” she smiled. “Seeing as he’s my son.”

I had to ask her to repeat herself. Her son? As in… my brother? I had a brother?

“He’s heard all about you. My mother never let me bring him to visit you.”

I looked at him, and he was laughing with Jeremy again. And I could see the smile that my mom had. And I could see the similarities in our body language. And I could see that Mom was crying as she witnessed me coming to these realizations.

I don’t know how long I was just looking at him. I had always wanted a brother. I had one for the past 22 years and I never knew. And Gramma had to have been the one who kept me from knowing. There just wasn’t any other explanation. But sometime while I was looking, I guess the boys thought something was wrong and they came inside again. And when I saw Rocco up close, I stood up.

“Sorry I look like shit,” I whispered. “If I’d had any idea who you were, I would have dressed up for you.”

He finally put away his phone. “I’m nervous as shit,” he shrugged. “So don’t sweat it.”

“He’s a dork like you,” Jeremy said. “I think you guys will get along.”

I wanted to hug Rocco, but maybe it was too soon. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can get past all this and maybe get to know each other.”

“For sure,” he nodded. And then his phone came out again and he twirled it through his fingers, and I recognized the signs of someone who needs their security blanket in stressful situations. He had his phone. I had Jeremy.

We wrapped up the evening with a shit ton of mixed emotions, a bundle of swapped phone numbers, and promises to stay in touch. I knew some of us would talk to others of us. I could easily see Jeremy and Rocco hitting it off someday. But I wasn’t especially optimistic about it. We dropped them off at their hotel and went home silently. I cried. He pretended he didn’t know I was crying because that’s what I want him to do most of the time.

We got back home and we just sat in the car there in the garage. I looked up at him, tears down my face and swallowed up in his hoodie, and he was looking back at me with those large, pitiful eyes of his. I wanted to say everything, but I didn’t want to burden him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to fuck my brains out so that I didn’t have to think about Mom anymore. But there was a comfort in his eyes, which seemed as gray as the shirt he was wearing. The dim light of the window, the sun rising, cast a shadow over his cheeks that would have left me breathless if I wasn’t already. And all I could think right now was that he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He shrugged.

“I love you, Jeremy.”

He smiled.

“You know, you’re the only person I would come to for this. I trust you.”

He nodded, but he still didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?”

He looked me over, turned so that he was leaning his side to the seat, and took my hands. “I just want you to be happy,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“What makes you happy, Lana?”

“You.”

“But what really does it? What makes you happy?”

“You,” I repeated.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“I mean, what could I buy you or where could I take you? That sort of thing?”

I laughed a little. “I don’t know. Home.”

“Chicago?”

I nodded. “I want a family. I can’t wait for the baby to get here.”

“Are you gonna go back with him at some point?” He seemed afraid at the thought. 

“I’ve considered it.”

“You’d live in your condo on Lake Shore Drive, just like you always dreamed.”

“Yeah,” I smiled. I even closed my eyes so I could really picture it. “but I’d also have my old-ass farmhouse in the country to escape to when I’m sick of the traffic.”

“You’d have your horses.”

“And my chickens,” I added. “And a shit ton of cats that could just run the place.”

“You’ve got it all pictured, don’t you?”

“Perfectly,” I answered. “I could paint it.”

“Is there a place for me?” He asked.

I opened my eyes again and looked over at the way he was. His eyes were closed, too. He was leant against the headrest. His thumb was caressing the back of my hand and I wanted to give him everything. “There’s always a place for you, Babe.”

He smiled. I think he still thought I wasn’t looking, so I closed my eyes again. And the next thing I knew, his phone was ringing and the sun was fully shining through the window. We’d dozed off for the past two hours or so, and he was still holding my hands in his.

“Wake up,” I told him. “Your phone’s going off.”

He woke up a little, reached for the phone just long enough to reject the call, and closed his eyes again.


	21. Chapter 21

Kate was due three days before the Oscars, but her doctor had informed her that this baby was taking his sweet time. On the one hand, I was glad for that. It meant awards season would officially be over before the new duties of motherhood came along. On the other hand, I had to schedule her final fitting on the morning of the Academy Awards. She was growing inches every day it seemed, and even though overall she was entirely tummy and the perfect, ideal form of maternity, it was stressful for me as I struggled to find the most flattering fit for her mere hours before she would waddle down the red carpet with me.

She requested red for her dress, and when I originally showed her a seemingly ordinary flowing black gown, she frowned at it and told me she was worried about looking like Elvira. But I asked her to trust me, and she did. Only two people ever trusted me, and that was her and Jeremy. But right now, even my Jeremy was the last thing on my mind. I was focused on Kate. Too focused to give a single damn what he was doing or wearing or thinking or even where he was.

“Oh, so there’s a little red in it….” Kate mused aloud, eyeing the streak of red I included in the back of her dress. “Ya know, this looks sorta like that dress you made for Scarlett in that movie. Was that on purpose?”

“Sorta,” I answered. “More like that was the inspiration for this one.”

“I like it. I didn’t think I would, but I like it.”

I grimaced as much as I could with five straight pins hanging from my mouth, but I couldn’t blame her for her honesty. In fact, I weirdly welcomed it. She may not be the designer among us, but she had impeccable taste. When she gave an opinion, it was usually the right one.

“What’re you wearing tonight?” She asked. “Tell me it’s green. You look amazing in green.”

“It’s blue, actually,” I told her. But there’s a hint of green in the hombre effect of the lining, which will show only when I’m walking. Like in a swishing sort of way, you know what I mean?”

She seemed confused and understandably so. “I think so. It’ll make more sense when you’re wearing it, I guess.”

“Hopefully.”

“So is Jer wearing blue, too?”

“It’s not the prom, Kate. We don’t need to match. We’re not even each other’s date.”

“But you’re his…. His what? His girlfriend now? Girlfriend doesn’t seem the right word.”

“Well then what does?” I asked, mostly to humor her.

“Wife,” she answered. “You guys should be married.”

The idea of being a wife to Jeremy or anyone else at this point was not something I really wanted to get into. Yeah sure, someday. But not today. Not on Oscar Night.

“I’m his… person,” I told her, smiling a little. “And he’s mine. You’re right – no other term really sounds right. And I’m certainly not his wife.”

“Not yet,” she winked.

I meant to keep silent on the matter, but I broke into a smile as I sewed in the last stitch she needed. “Not yet,” I repeated. “Now there… look at you. Look how gorgeous you are.” I helped her to her feet and guided her to the mirror. “Tell me you don’t love this.”

She straightened out the luscious fabric that, in my opinion anyway, draped her bump perfectly. “I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid,” she told me. “I freaking love it!”

She looked like a million bucks, which is what this dress would have cost in manpower hours if she’d ordered it from any other designer. “Alyssa will be here in an hour for our hair and makeup, so try to contain yourself ‘til then, okay? I’m gonna go get dressed now.”

“And when do we leave?” She asked eagerly, sitting again.

“At three. Red carpet starts at four, ceremonies start at five. We’re gonna be on a red carpet in a couple hours, love. Excited?”

She reached beside the chair for her book and shrugged. “Be more excited if I had a smoothie, to be honest.”

I laughed at how she was playing it so cool as if it wasn’t something she’d been raving about since January. “I’ll tell Jeremy to make you one. See you later.”

I left the room, closing the door softly behind me before making my way to his bedroom. He’d had company over all morning – publicists, designers, stylists, friends, his mom – people who would be more worthy of my attention all day than I was. But for now, it seemed he had a moment between visitors. I figured I might as well put him to work.

His door was opened a little before I pushed it open all the way, and I could see him flat on his back, arms outstretched on the bed, eyes closed. I thought he was just taking a relaxing break, maybe. But no. I could hear his soft snoring, and I almost pitied him.

I closed the door behind me, made my way to the bed, and knelt beside him. He never really looked like an angel, nor would he ever want to, but there was something certainly radiant about him like this. I pressed my lips to his cheek, to his ear, my hand sliding over his chest. “Baby,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

His snoring stopped, and though his eyes remained closed I could tell he was awake. “Mom?” He whispered.

I smacked my hand flat against his chest. “Gross!”

He laughed, reaching his arms for me and pulling me into the bed. I liked him like this. I liked him domestic and loving, tender, gentle. The Jeremy I fell in love with.

“Alyssa is gonna be here in an hour,” I told him. “You need to get dressed.”

“I can be dressed in five minutes,” he said, his voice gritty with the tiring of his voice.

“Well I need to get dressed, and Kate needs a smoothie. Can you help her out while I’m getting ready?”

He opened his eyes and looked over at me beside him. “A whole hour, did you say?”

“Don’t!” I laughed. “Not now, there isn’t time!”

His grip on my arms grew tighter and he rolled over me, pressing my body to the mattress. “I can be so fast,” he giggled, kissing my neck because he knew my weakness.

Slowly I parted my legs around his body. “There isn’t time…” I whispered. But at this point… fuck the Oscars.

“No, I know… no time at all. No time for me to kiss you… and taste you…”

“No time for any of this…” I joined in as I pulled his shirt back from his body.

He kissed my lips, his hands touching my body in a way I ached for. “Did you lock that door?” he asked in a whisper against my throat while his hands pulled down my panties.

“I don’t think so, should I?”

His kisses fell to my chest and stomach, over my shirt but still down my body until he was kissing my thighs. “You’re not moving now,” he smiled. “But if anyone walks in it’s your fault.”

I would have giggled if he didn’t suddenly have me focusing on him so fast again, and on the warmth of his breath against my wet pussy. I couldn’t even speak enough to beg for it the way I wanted to. His tongue was tracing the outline of my lips, flicking playfully over my clit, and at this point all I cared for was to feel him on top of me, inside me, his hands bracing me…

“Who’s a chick gotta kill to get a smoothie ar—No! No, my eyes!”

Jeremy immediately moved himself off my body and pulled the covers over us as best he could. “Kate, what the fuck?”

She held her hands over her eyes like a child watching a horror film, and the two of us “adults” scrambled to get decent. “I told you to sit tight until Alyssa got here, didn’t I?” I said angrily.

Suddenly she started to giggle, hands still covering her eyes.

“It’s not funny, man!” Jeremy said, laughing himself just a little.

“Are you kidding me? You and her getting it on! I ask for a smoothie and she can’t even ask you for that without jumping your bones!”

“Hey!” I interrupted. “What are you trying to say?”

“Are you guys decent?”

“Yes,” we answered in unison, though with different degrees of severity.

She dropped her arms back to her sides and waddled into the room fully, eyeing the bed as if she originally intended to sit there, but opting – and understandable so – for the chaise. “Why don’t you guys just suck it up and get married?’ She asked.

Jeremy and I looked at each other. I was smiling. He wasn’t.

“You know you guys are gonna get married eventually,” she continued. “Or at least you’ll be together forever. And you’re gonna have a kid. And you can’t keep your hands off each other. Make it the old-fashioned way. Get hitched.”

I looked at Jeremy and started to laugh, and to my relief he joined in. “Kate, we’re not gonna get married just like that.”

“Why not?” she asked him. “Give me one good reason why you two shouldn’t get married and I’ll wash my hands of this entire cause. Come on… Either one of ya.”

“Because we don’t want to get married until everybo—”

“If you say you’re not getting married until everybody is able to get married, so help me God I will kill you and keep this baby for myself,” she interrupted me.

Jeremy was my only hope now. I had reasons why I didn’t particularly care for marriage, reasons why I thought it was stupid, reasons why I didn’t think it was necessary… but no real reasons why he and I should not be married to each other. Nothing except that I was afraid of failing at it.

“There isn’t one, is there?” she asked.

“We have a lot going on right now,” he said finally. “Adding getting married to the list would be a lot of work.”

Not the best answer, but at least he said something.

She rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be Alyssa probably,” Jeremy said, sort of mumbling as he stood from the edge of the bed. “And as much as I hate to tear myself from this conversation, I have to go answer the door. She’ll kill you if you’re not ready soon, Banana.”

As soon as he left the room, Kate smiled over at me with a furrowed brow, and I was not even going to try and guess what her emotional state was at this point. “Why does he call you that?”

“It’s a nickname my gramma used to give me,” I said. “Not as often as he gives it to me, but yeah.”

She smiled as I adjusted my clothing, and then she giggled.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“You guys are fated!” She exclaimed. “You guys are so fated!”

I could hear Alyssa talking downstairs. She’d never really been one for discretion or inside voices. “I think we’ll maybe do it one day… maybe,” I gave in. “But that’ll be years down the road when the baby is asking us to. And that’s if we’re still together.”

“Oh, you will be. You will. I’d bet anything.”

I could hear them now coming up the stairs, and I decided to have a little fun with Kate. “How much would you bet for real?”

“For real?” She asked. “That you guys will get married, or that you’ll get married at some point before the end of this year?”

“The second one,” I answered. “How much do you want to bet?”

“Five million dollars!”

“Okay, well I don’t have five million dollars and neither do you. I’m being serious.”

“Well if we’re talking for real then… lunch at Athens Elite every day for a year.”

“We don’t have an Athens Elite here,” I told her.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll win anyway.”

“Okay, deal. If he and I get married within the year, I owe you Athens Elite for a year. If we don’t, you owe me lunch at Johnny L’s. Is it a bet?”

“It’s a bet!” she smiled.

We shook on it just to make it official, and it was then that Alyssa walked in.

“Get dressed! What the hell is wrong with you?” She barked. “Come on!”

Jeremy sneaked into his bathroom, Kate giggled her way out of the room, and I left to retrieve my dress.

Showtime.

…

Jeremy left while I was still being beautified, and I have to admit I was disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to see me in full attire, and god only knows when he would. I mean, I couldn’t be too upset that he’d gone early – he had to pick up his mom from her hotel and get to the red carpet for interview after interview, so I knew I’d probably not see him for the remainder of the evening. If I was lucky, we’d see each other around nine in the morning after we were both back from the after parties, and maybe if I was very lucky, we’d collapse in the same bed. And if I was very, very lucky, I’d have my name called for my category and I would get to walk up there and he’d see me in all my glory…

But now I was just jinxing myself.

With only thirty minutes until the ceremonies began, our car arrived a block or two away from the carpet. Kate was actually walking faster than I was, Kate in her kitten heels and long flowing black gown and hair done up to make her infinitely more beautiful than I could ever hope to be. I could tell that the media members around us were sure she was a starlet, and they were searching their resources to find out who she was, who was pregnant right now, and who was in the company of a new-on-the-scene designer who for some reason no longer knew how to walk in five-inch heels despite having done so since she was 13 but whatever. She was being asked to stop for photos, asked for autographs from eager fans who again, weren’t sure who she was but knew she must be someone. And I, the Oscar nominee, walked beside her humbly. Too humbly. Someone needed to fucking notice me right now.

Finally somewhere down the line I heard my name being called. The groupies for fashion designers at a star-studded event to end all star-studded events aren’t exactly overwhelming, but there were enough photographers to keep me busy. Hand on my hip, other hand gently at my side, clutch in hand, just as I’d been coached. I smiled with my jaw jutted somewhat to give my face a more oval shape. One foot slightly before the other. Deep breaths. Good posture. Where the fuck was my Jeremy?

There were a couple of remarks about my “date” and how long we’d been together, and since it was easier to say that I’d known her for a couple years than to explain that she wasn’t so much my date as she was the mother of my child with another man that I may or may not someday marry, I did just that. I didn’t say I was dating her, but I didn’t deny it either. I would be forgotten tomorrow. I just wanted to get through the night.

Inside the theatre… my god.

I’d had my fair share of award ceremonies and formal dinners in elaborate venues, but nothing had ever been like this. Row after row of the most famous and beautiful and amazing people, everywhere I looked there was a Pitt or a Jolie or a Hanks or a Lawrence or a Pacino. Some of them were so surprisingly human while others of them simply couldn’t be bothered to do so much as look on another human being. Oh my god, it’s Meryl Streep…

I was dying.

My seat was in the wing, left-of-stage among the nominees for sound mixing and stage design. We were the ones no one really cared about, the ones where the viewers at home were taking bathroom breaks while our names were being read. But I didn’t care. I was invited to a Hollywood event that A-listers weren’t even being invited to. I mean, some A-listers. I mean, like musicians and stuff. I was at a party that Beyoncé wasn’t at, so… I felt kind of important, yeah.

I can’t explain how exciting it was to see everything begin. Awards for best supporting actress and actor were given out first, and it was all just that much more amazing award after award, during breaks I watched the set designers changing the stage, and then listened as the nominees around me ooo’ed and aah’ed over their work. What a bunch of geeks! Beside me, Kate slipped out of her kitten heels and tucked her legs underneath her, and munched on M&Ms which, as it turned out, were the only things she’d brought with her in her clutch. After her fourth trip to the bathroom, she told me she was just going to find a seat in back. I wanted her to stay, but I couldn’t really do anything about it.

Now yes, I do get nervous. And when I get nervous, it mostly manifests in the form of ill-thought words or unplanned, long-winded speeches. But as I knew that my category was approaching, something new began to happen. My palms became sweaty, my mouth dry, the champagne flute in my hand trembling, or was that my hand itself? I could almost hear the beat of my heart, and I could definitely feel it. I was having a panic attack, I just knew it.

“So your date ditched you, huh?”

I looked beside me, and when I saw Jeremy’s unmistakable and comforting smile, I sighed in relief. “I’m gonna fucking piss myself,” I told him.

He laughed a little, lowering his voice when the host took the microphone again. “I saw Kate in back. Poor thing.”

“She’s walking around barefoot,” I told him, pointing to her shoes on the floor in front of his seat. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s sitting next to Bradley Cooper,” he said. “She doesn’t even know I left.”

I smiled, and I took a deep breath because… well I needed to.

“Kate told me about your bet,” he said, slipping his hand over mine and holding tight.

“She’s crazy.”

“Is she?”

I was very aware that we were whispering, and I didn’t want to have this conversation this way. “We can’t get married right now,” I said. “You know that.”

“Why not?”

I looked over at him. He wasn’t joking.

“I… don’t know…”

“Let’s get married.” He said, as if he were suggesting we go get gyros, and I wish he was.

“When?”

“Now,” he shrugged. “Well, after you win, anyway.”

The spotlight hit me. They were reading the list of nominees, and I had to smile.

“Are you high?” I asked as soon as the light left.

“Sort of. I’m in love with you, and isn’t that pretty much the same thing?”

“You don’t get to say cute things like that, Renner!” I hissed. “Not now!”

“There’s a car outside, Vegas is only a few hours’ drive, and we can be married before sunrise. What do you say?”

He was fucking serious.

Holy shit.

“Lana Fillmore, The Clock on the Wall!”

The light was on me again, and everyone was cheering. Half-heartedly, but they were cheering.

This was too much.

“Get up there, Banana. You won.”

Staying in that seat and finishing that conversation was just as terrifying a thought as walking up to that stage and accepting my Oscar, and since the latter was sort of more immediate, I found the strength to rise to my feet and get up there. I held out my arms, almost practicing holding Charlie for the first time, and snuggled that statue close as I approached the mic.

“Bette Midler just gave me a thumbs-up!” I laughed, and the room around me giggled.

I hadn’t prepared a speech. I always saw winners get up here and say they hadn’t prepared and I thought it was bullshit, but I really hadn’t.

“Um… I’d like to thank Scarlett Johanssen for finding me this job,” I said next, trying to sort my thoughts long enough to remember who I needed to acknowledge.

“Jamison Rhodes,” I continued. “Best agent ever. Louis, for pushing me and pissing me off so much that I actually made something that wasn’t complete shi—- crap.” I was on TV. I needed to be careful. “Thanks to everyone who came out to see this movie, the writers, the fans, the backers.” I looked over to Jeremy. I needed to thank him, too, but how?

He was smiling, but not the way he normally does when he’s just happy. He was proud of me, happy for me, happy as if he’d won this award. This was his victory just as it was mine, and rightfully so, I supposed. After all, he had been a huge part in this, and… fuck it. I was in love with him, he was in love with me, I’d never want to be with anyone else as much as this, and I trusted him. For the first time ever I trusted him completely in every way. I knew he’d never hurt me, he’d never leave me, he’d never want anyone else. He’d had his chance to move on and he didn’t. For the first time I could actually physically see that he loved me, and I couldn’t let this go. I just couldn’t.

“Yes,” I nodded to him. “Dude, yes. Let’s do it.”

Of course no one knew what I meant, and I don’t even think anyone realized who I was talking to. A few uncomfortable giggles emanated through the room, but it was only for support I think. I may have said a word or two more, but soon I was walking backstage, Oscar in hand.

I handed over the statue immediately to have it engraved, then posed for a few more pictures, answered a couple of questions, and began the long walk back to my seat. But as soon as I was in the hall, there he was with Kate. Waiting.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“Did you?”

“Of course he did!” Kate interjected. “And so did you!”

I ran into his arms, and he held me so close I could have suffocated. Kate was sick of standing so she sat on a nearby bench.

Jeremy let go suddenly, turned back to her and smiled. “You’re gonna stick with my mom for the rest of the night, okay? I’ll take you to her seat. Don’t you dare tell her where I am, just tell her I’ll see her tomorrow and everything’s okay.”

“And pick of my Oscar when they’re done with it!” I told her. “I can tell them you’re getting it for me.”

“Wait, you guys are doing this now?” She asked. “Like right now?”

“This is your fault, Kate!” Jeremy laughed.

We made our hasty arrangements, left to the car, and got inside. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. “Just us, no friends or family?”

“I’m sure. Are you sure? You’re mom’s gonna kill you.”

“I know. But I think she’ll understand.”

“Then let’s do this.”

We’d just started down the road when Jeremy got a text. He laughed, and I asked him what it said.

“It’s from my mom,” he told me. “She says, ‘Kate says Lana owes her a gyro, whatever that means.’”


	22. Chapter 22

We were married at a drive-thru chapel with Elvis as best man and Dolly Parton as maid of honor. We were in and out in five minutes, choosing the most basic, traditional vows they offered. When they asked if we had a ring, we laughed. Of course we didn’t have a ring. Do most couples who marry spontaneously in Vegas have rings?

We rented our own car once we got about thirty miles outside of Vegas, and our driver went home to his wife with a story I’m sure she’d never believe. And once Jeremy and I had our own car, that was when life began to slow down for a few minutes. And suddenly it was me and my husband. And calling him my husband seemed so right, and yet so strange. After all this time and everything we’d been through, it was only natural that we would be together for the rest of our lives. But here next to him, holding his hand over the center console as we searched for a half-decent hotel on short notice, there was something that was still missing, and I voiced that thought aloud to him as we drove through the city.

“I know what’s missing,” he smiled devilishly. I knew that smile only too well.

“What do you mean?”

“We have some unfinished business,” he said. “You know what I mean.”

“No I don’t…”

His hand moved onto my lap, his fingers curling over the curve of my thigh, and he began pulling the skirt of my dress up higher and higher, layer by layer. And then I knew without a doubt what was missing.

“Damn, woman, how much fucking material is in this skirt?” He said in a frustrated tone, desperately trying to find any hint of skin under all of the tulle and satin.

“You could just rip it, you know.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “The big night is over. Go ahead.”

He looked over at me and winked. “Let’s get up to our room first. Because once I start on you, I have absolutely no intentions on stopping until you are good and fucked.”

The way he said that send an electric shock straight between my legs. “Then let’s get a room. Now.”

Within minutes that felt like hours, we had booked a suite overlooking the city, and we made our way up immediately alone without a single piece of luggage to have to wrangle. I wanted to grab him around the shoulders and climb him and wrap my legs around him and have him fuck me senseless right then and there, but every time I moved closer to him, someone else boarded the elevator. I backed up against him, just resting aside his warmth, his breath on the back of my neck while oblivious, drunken patrons piled in, far too busy on cell phones and doing their own business with their own partners to notice who he was. Halfway to the top, I could feel his hand on my ass, gripping it tight and suddenly so that I jumped a little. But neither of us wanted much attention on us, so I had to be discreet. And with him touching me that way, it wasn’t easy.

Finally we were there. We got out of the elevator and he opened the door, and I pushed him into the room and kicked the door closed behind me, lunging toward him and not holding back when I kissed him.

“Someone’s eager,” he laughed, breaking away long enough to look me in the eyes. “Are you in some sort of hurry?”

“I’m just ready to consummate this shit,” I told him.

He laughed again, holding me even closer, kissing my neck. “Keep talking dirty like that and I won’t be able to resist.”

I moved my hands to peel back his jacket, but he stopped me. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered. “I just think we should take it slow.”

“Slow? Why the hell are we taking it slow? We haven’t taken it slow one time in the three hundred years we’ve known each other.”

“But you’re my wife now,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re my wife, and I want to give my wife the best night of her life the first time we make love.”

I backed away and looked at him curiously. “Are… are you serious?”

He looked at me with a straight face. “Of course.”

I didn’t know what to say. He was never really the “make love” type.

“Nah, I’m fuckin’ with ya!” He laughed. “But I want you on the bed right now so that I can rip off that dress and eat that pussy like I promised.”

He kissed me again, kissed my lips, my neck, my shoulders. I staggered slowly backwards toward the bedroom, my fingers tight on his lapel and finally able to begin removing his clothes. When finally we found ourselves against the bed, I sat on the edge, and he knelt down in front of me.

He slipped my shoes off of my feet and kissed my toes, his hands gently massaging my calves as his kisses traveled higher and higher up my legs. His palms slid smoothly up my thighs, and suddenly his mouth was between my legs, kissing my labia and pressing his thumbs in the hollows of my thighs. I was already breathless from the feeling, but I couldn’t see him over the dress that overpowered him, and I absolutely needed to see him.

Then it was as if he could read my mind. He ripped the fabric apart and spread my legs open. His eyes, blue with pupils blown wide, looked up at me as he bit his lip and then +went down on me again. I threw my head back and held onto his hair, pulling it hard and not holding back as his lips opened over me. His tongue encircled my clit, teasing me mercilessly, fingers playing around my entrance, probing in and out with alternating force. Occasionally he had to stop to breathe, but never did he cease his concentration on my body. I would peek down at him when I could, but as soon as he began sucking on my clit, I reached my limits, clenching my eyes shut and bracing his head between my legs, which probably squeezed around him a bit too tightly when I climaxed. But he didn’t complain.

I was begging him to fuck me now. All I wanted was to feel his cock inside me, his weight on top of me, his shirt half-opened because we were too focused on consummating to even fully undress ourselves. He came up onto the bed and kissed my mouth, and tasting myself on him was a thrill I never thought I could enjoy so much. His lips moved to my neck again – he knew how this drove me crazy – and he held my hips in place when he moved inside me. He was slow at first, and gentle and sweet and almost everything we didn’t typically like to be in bed, but this was different. There was something so precious in how soft he was with me now, that I was able to enjoy the slow build that was brought on by how he handled me.

And then I begged him to move faster, to fuck me harder, to not hold back, to show no mercy, to leave me sore and walking funny for a week. And he did. Because that’s just who we are in bed, and that’s what’s right for us.

He kissed me when he reached his orgasm, and when his tongue slid over the roof of my mouth, and I felt the warmth of him inside me, that was when I realized he was right. This was what was missing. Everything felt right now somehow. I don’t know how this changed everything, but it did.

He kicked his pants off from where they’d been around his ankles, and he finished unbuttoning his shirt. We were both still catching our breath when he lay beside me, holding my hand and squeezing it tightly. And then he looked at me, smiling like I rarely ever got to see.

“I love you,” he smiled softly.

I was choked up, but I managed to tell him I loved him, too.

…

The next thing I knew, it was morning. Light was sneaking in through the blinds and waking me rudely, as it does. We were no longer holding hands. In fact, he wasn’t there at all.

Just when I began looking around for him, he walked back in from the hall.

“What were you doing out there?” I asked.

“I had David bring you some clothes. Kate picked them out for you. I figure you wouldn’t want to walk around in that dress any longer than you have to.”

“That’s actually really sweet of you. Thanks.” I saw that he had clothes of his own in hand, and I looked him over as I slinked out of my dress and headed naked toward the bathroom. “Join me?”

He followed close behind, undressing himself as well until we got to the spacious shower. Streams of water sprayed us from every side, and we enjoyed it much longer than I thought we would before he gave in.  
Well okay, we both gave in…

I could feel him hard against the back of my leg as he stood behind me and began licking the water off the back of my neck. I sighed, deliberately rubbing my ass up against him, then bracing my hands against the wall, bending over to welcome him to have his way with me. His hands fell to my hips, and just when things were about to get really good, we could hear the text alert of his phone in the other room.

Of course we ignored it, and he guided his dick inside me, one hand still on my hip while the other moved the hair out of my face so that he could see my reactions. He rocked into me, then again, hard and wet and strong, pushing my whole body closer to the wall tile.

Then his phone went off again.

Again we ignored it.

But by the time it had gone off for the third time in two minutes, I insisted he at least go out and silence it. He made it clear that he wasn’t about to stop for a goddamn phone, but I didn’t give him that choice. I stepped out of the shower, dripping wet and all, and found his phone. And before I could shut it off, I noticed all three texts were from his mom.

.

Kate’s in labor. Leaving for hospital.

.

Where are you?

.

Did you seriously get married without me???

.

“Jeremy!” I called. “It’s your mom!”

It only took him a moment to come out to the bedroom. “What happened?”

I showed him the texts.

He grabbed our clothes from the bed and tossed mine at me. “We’re having a baby, Banana,” he smiled. “And we have to deal with my mother’s wrath. This is going to be a day.”

It wasn’t until I was dressed and we were in the car, just about to leave for the highway that I noticed what was going on, and it all sank in.

“Holy shit,” I said.

He stopped, staring blankly at the steering wheel. “I think I forgot how to drive.”

I got out and switched places with him. “We’re having a baby, J. A baby!”

“Are we even ready for that?” he asked.

“Nope,” I answered. “We’re not ready. But it’s happening.”

His head fell to his hand, and he began texting his mother back, misspelling every word, I would later find out. He was too distracted to care.

He reached over for my hand again. I just knew he was going to say something meaningful. Something I would never forget. Some poignant statement about our impending parenthood.

“My mom’s gonna kill me…”

I just looked at him.

“Worth it,” he added. “Totally worth it.”


	23. Chapter 23

We had to at least try to be careful about who saw us, but that’s hard to do when you’re about to have a baby. Even more so when you’ve just been married and you were interrupted mid-coitus to hear about the impending parenthood.

We snuck in through a side entrance that one of Jeremy’s many minions had arranged for us to enter. As soon as we got in and made our way up to labor and delivery, I think we were both in agreement that our hearts were beating out of control and that the cocktail of fear and anticipation with a happiness chaser was almost too much for us to bear. He’d never gripped my hand so tight. I thought it would break.

We found the nurse’s desk and asked to see Kate. When we were directed to her room, we made our way there carefully, so as not to attract attention to ourselves. And inside the room, it was perhaps the most precious sight I’d ever seen.

Jeremy’s mom was seated beside the delivery bed. Both she and Kate were sleeping, holding hands and looking equally pained. I wanted to know the progress, but I didn’t have the heart to wake them.

“I’ve never read a baby monitor,” I whispered to Jeremy. “But I see a heartbeat, so that’s good.”

“Obviously there’s a heartbeat,” he smiled. “I’ve never read one either, but maybe we can figure it out.”

We tried to tiptoe past his mother, who woke up and stared at us both as if she were deeply offended. We knew why. She hadn’t been told that her son was running off to Vegas to elope with the mother of his child. On top of that, she’d been left alone with an overdue pregnant woman with very little information on what to do if Kate did go into labor.

“Sorry, Ma,” Jeremy whispered, kissing her forehead. “Love you.”

She looked at me. “Sorry Ma,” I whispered.

“Ma me all you want, but this poor girl here is trying to sleep. She just took all kinds of pain meds, and this is the first peace she’s had since we got here.”

“How long have you guys been here?” I asked.

She glanced at her watch, carefully releasing Kate’s hand. “Seven hours,” she told us. Poor thing’s only three centimeters dilated. It’s gonna be a while yet.”

“Fuck,” Jeremy said, shaking his head.

“Jeremy…”

I watched them talking to each other, the relationship they had, the mom-and-son dynamic. Charlie and I might have that someday…

She explained the baby monitor to us, showed how it was wrapped around Kate’s belly, how it was monitoring the baby’s position and heartbeat, and how the doctor had only come in once in all the time they’d been there. She seemed to be complaining, and we could tell she was exhausted.

“Why don’t you go home and rest?” I suggested. “We’re here now.”

“And miss my grandbaby being born?” She asked. “Are you crazy?”

“Then go to the café, get a coffee,” he suggested.

She looked once more at Kate, then shook her head. “I suppose that’s not a terrible idea,” she sighed. “I’ll be back in a bit. I might even go out and get some real food. If you need anything, just call me.”

“Will do, mom.” She kissed his cheek again then moved to hug me before she left.

We stayed staring at the monitor for a few moments silently, listening to Kate’s soft snoring – something she’d started doing in the later part of her pregnancy. “I wonder how long she’ll stay asleep?” I mumbled.

“Who knows?” he shrugged. “At least she’s not in pain right now, and it looks like we have some time.”

Just then, a tall, dark-haired doctor entered the room. “Ah,” he announced, very clinically. “You must be Mom and Dad.”

He wasn’t Kate’s regular doctor, but I didn’t mind the fact that he was on call. He was, to put it mildly, a handsome man.

“We are,” Jeremy told him, reaching out to shake his hand. “Jeremy, and this is my wife, Lana.”

“Has the nurse updated you on her progress?” he asked us.

“No, we just got here,” I said. “I just know she’s on some medication right now to help her sleep.”

“Her contractions were pretty severe,” he told us. “She rated them at a nine out of ten, which we wouldn’t normally hear until she was well over six or seven centimeters. Also, we’re concerned because it looks as though the baby’s position has shifted since her appointment last week. We’re going to send an ultrasound up here to see, but we think he might be breach.”

“Breach?” I repeated. “Like upside-down? Is he alright? Is he going to be alright?”

“We see that his heartbeat is still strong, so we have no reason to think there’s anything wrong. But if he is breach and we can’t get him to turn within the next few hours, we’re going to have to talk about the possibility of a C-section.”

“That’s major surgery!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Does she know?”

“Of course, we talked about it all earlier. In fact, that’s why I put her on the Ambien. She was worrying and in pain and she needed some sleep. I just came in here to check her progress, but I might wait a while before I wake her up.”

“Is there any sort of restriction on who gets to go in with her if she does need the surgery?” Jeremy asked. I looked over at him, and the concern in his eyes was at a heart-breaking level.

“She can have one of you in there with her, but not both. And she needs to sign a written consent on whomever she chooses to allow. You have some time still to figure it out, so I’d talk it out with her if I were you.”

After the doctor left, Jeremy and I sat by the bed and just waited, wordlessly worrying over her progress and wondering about Charlie. We hoped he wasn’t breach, but even if he was, we just hoped he’d keep that strong heartbeat going. He didn’t know it yet, but he was my rock. He brought me and his dad back together for the last time – the time that counted. He was everything to us already, and he wasn’t even here yet.

After a little over an hour, the doctor came back to check Kate’s progress. He woke her gently, and she didn’t say a word when he explained that she had made only a half centimeter in progress. As soon as he walked out of the room, however, we couldn’t get her to shut up.

But considering how much we loved her, loved her talking, and needed her to get the pain off her mind, we didn’t mind at all.

She told us all about how she’d first realized she was in labor. She told us that she was feeding the dogs, and that when she bent over, the pain in her back became unbearable. One sign led to another, and before she knew it, she was counting contractions. Once they were five minutes apart, they came to the hospital. And altogether, roughly one centimeter’s progress had been made thus far.

“I’m worried about little Charlie,” she said. “I’ve been trying to coax him to turn around and do those little backflips he used to be so fond of when he had more room in there. But now he’s just so stubborn. He probably gets that from you, Jer.”

“Me? Stubborn?” Jeremy teased. “Never.”

“I think it’s pretty likely that she knows the truth,” I told him.

For a few more minutes, it was wonderful. We were talking and laughing, and it occurred to me that after this day we wouldn’t ever again be just the three of us. There would be a kid in the mix. A kid conceived in an unconventional fashion, mothered by two and smothered by love. And a kid with the most amazing dad in the world – the man I loved. The man that convinced me that Fate might actually be a real thing.

And then suddenly Kate was clutching her side, breathing deeply. “Ow, ow, ow!” She exclaimed, wincing and clenching at the pain. “Fuck shit oh my god fuck dammit fuck!”

It was awful seeing her like this – just dreadful. But I’d never heard her swear like that, and at the same time that I would have given anything to be in her place taking the pain for her, I wanted to laugh just a little bit.

The breathing, panting, wincing, and swearing came to a slow, then halted altogether. “And anyway if you wanna come in there with me, Lana, I think I’d like you to be the one with me.” She continued as if nothing had happened. And since she didn’t mention it, there was no way in hell I was going to.

“Of course, sweetie,” I told her. “If that’s what you want, I’d be honored.”

Jeremy started asking questions about how Kate had gotten along with his mother, how things had gone after we left, and that sort of thing. But before too much time could pass, the ultrasound tech entered the room with a portable machine and began setting up her equipment beside the bed. The room, though thankfully a private one, was almost oppressively small enough with just the three of us in there. When the tech and the equipment entered as well, Jeremy and I just excused ourselves from the room while that was going on.

“Well, if the C-section does happen, I guess you’ll be the one to see our baby first,” Jeremy smiled at me once we were well down the hall from her room. “Take lots of pictures!”

“J, baby, I don’t think I can do it.”

“What?” Understandably, he didn’t understand. “What do you mean? This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Don’t you want to be in there?”

“I don’t know… all that blood? The cutting? She’s probably gonna be puking… I don’t know. I mean, I feel bad telling her that, but I think I need to rather than going in there with her and then freaking out the whole time.”

“But she might not be comfortable having me in there, and I think someone should be with her, don’t you?”

He was right. “Just ask her,” I said. “Just say that you really want to do it. Make it sound like you just really want to be there.”

“Why can’t we just tell her the truth?”

“Because she looks up to me! She thinks of me as this big, tough person who’s been through all this shit and can handle anything. I can’t tell her I’m wussing out because of a little blood.”

He rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned his weight to one leg. “First of all, it’s not just a little blood. I mean, yeah, admittedly I’ve never actually seen the procedure done, but I saw those regular births we watched. Remember those? Those were pretty damned disgusting, but you got through those.”

“I never watched those,” I admitted sheepishly.

“You never – I sent you links, Lana! How did you not watch them?”

“I just figured I’d be at the head of the bed holding her hand,” I shrugged. “I figured you’d be the one… down there… cutting cords and stuff.”

He let out an emphatic sigh and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But if she wants you in there, she wants you in there. I can’t make her change her mind and I’m not gonna push her to.”

“Fine,” I agreed.

Just then, as if timed, the tech emerged from the room, and we went in to see how it went. Kate was sitting in the bed readjusting the monitor around her belly, but she didn’t seem saddened. That must be a good sign, right?

“How’d it go?” Jeremy asked before I could.

She looked at us and smiled. “Good.”

“So he’s not breach?” I asked.

“Nope!” She smoothed her hands lovingly over her bump. “This little baby of yours has decided to cooperate. We just had a long talk during the ultrasound.”

“And how are the contractions?”

“Still hurt,” she answered. “Getting closer together, too. And some of them are very painful and some of them aren’t anymore. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Finally, some relief. We knew the doctor wouldn’t be checking her progress for another hour at least, so we decided to relax.   
Kate’s contractions were much closer than they’d been. In fact, it seemed she was having one every three or so minutes. That made us believe progress was being made, and now that we knew the baby wasn’t breach, it seemed there would be no operation after all.

I don’t know how, but I dozed off at some point over the next few minutes. Jeremy and Kate got caught up in a conversation about the 49ers and the Bears and the boredom was killing me. When I awoke, cute doctor was back, and he was announcing that Kate’s water had finally broken, and on its own. Apparently that’s a good thing.

“Six centimeters!” He smiled. “Finally making progress!”

I could have jumped for joy, but that would have been inappropriate.

I smiled over at Jeremy, who seemed almost as if he were crying from the excitement. Kate was actually crying, both from relief and from the pain she was experiencing.

“Your kid’s a good listener,” she told us. “You should be proud.”

“Were you sleeping?” Jeremy asked me.

“No… well, just for a few seconds.”

“You were snoring,” Kate said.

“I hope those contractions feel amazing,” I sneered.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee downstairs.” Jeremy grabbed my arm and looked back at Kate. “You don’t mind, do ya, buddy?”

“No,” she said, then stopped to endure another contraction. “I still have four centimeters to go. You’ve got some time.”

Knowing that we could relax, and knowing that no C-section needed to happen were the exact things I needed. Okay, maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe we all needed them. Kate most of all.

We went down to the café and ordered coffee, then sat in the loneliest corner we could find so that we could talk. This was nice. I missed this. Jeremy and I had been struggling for so long to find time to get alone to just talk, but lately it seemed it always turned into sex or was interrupted by some major emergency.

We discussed the fact of the house. Both houses. His was on the market. Mine was newly finished and tailor-made for just me and the baby. Jeremy wouldn’t be happy there in the Valley. It was too far from everything and too small and too busy. He was a mover, a caravaner, someone who can never stay in one place for too long. I used to hate that, and maybe I still did. But we were married now, and like it or not, we were settling down as a family. It was time for him to decide where we’d spend the rest of our lives – or at least where our home base would always be. In his job, some moving was to be expected.

“You love the house, don’t you?” He was, of course, speaking of his current address. The home I’d fallen in love with shortly after I fell for its owner.

“I really do,” I said. “But you made that Valley house for me.”

“Don’t you think there’s going to be some other beautiful, brilliant, young woman with a growing family who could fall in love with that house just as easily?” He asked.

“I suppose it’s possible,” I said. “But no one as beautiful or brilliant as me.”

“Of course not,” he humored me.

It broke my heart to agree to sell it, but I knew it was what we needed to do. The house was built with love. Someone would love it for the years to come. I was sure of that.

Well, okay… I was, like, 80% sure of that.

75%

Anyway…

After that, I don’t even remember what we talked about. That’s how fun it was. And if that sounds weird, just hear me out. We were having so much fun that what I remember from the conversation wasn’t what we said, but how it felt. How it felt sitting across from my new husband – a concept I was still getting used to – and playing footsies under the table while we talked. The way he held my hand on top of the table, leaning in close so I could hear him talk. The way he smelled, the way his eyes seemed so big and blue when he talked about the things that excited him. How he casually told me so many times and almost on accident how much he loved me. This was my life now. I could get used to this.

I looked over at the clock suddenly and realized we’d been talking for an hour. “We should get up there,” I said. “The doctor will be checking on her again soon.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. And when we’d stood from the table, he pulled me close to him, hugged me, and kissed my neck. “I love you, Banana,” he told me.

“Love you too, J.”

He held me at arm’s length and looked me in the eye. “You know things are gonna be very different after today, right?”

“I’m starting to see that.”

He held my hand as we made our way to the elevator. He tried to play it cool, but from the way he was squeezing my hand, his silence, and the sweat of his palms, I could see he was almost as nervous as I was.

And when we got back to labor and delivery, our lives were changed much sooner than we thought.

Nurses were rushing out of Kate’s room, a couple of them managing the baby cart, baby in tow. When they saw us, they greeted us with words of congratulations.

“She’s beautiful!” one said.

Obviously they were mistaken. We were having a boy. So what was going on in Kate’s room?

We walked in, and there she was on an elevated bed, looking rested and sweaty, and as soon as she saw us, I expected her to be furious, but she wasn’t.

“You guys!” she cooed. “Did you see her? She’s so pretty!”

Jeremy and I looked at each other, equally confused. “She?” We asked in unison.

The doctor, who was working on her stitches, looked back at us. “Yep! Little girl, nine pounds, six ounces!” He looked back at what he was doing.

I rushed to Kate and hugged her as best I could. A nurse was still removing her IV and of course she was elevated so that the doctor could stitch her up, but I was still able to get close.

“how did we miss it? We were only gone an hour! I was sure you’d take more time than that! Oh my god, Kate, I’m so sorry we weren’t here!”

“No, no, no,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Don’t be sorry, guys. The doctor said that sometimes that just happens. You have the baby faster than you thought and then all of a sudden it’s all over. I started pushing about twenty minutes after you left.”

“And it’s a girl?” Jeremy asked.

“Mm-hm,” she twitched a little at the pain she still felt, though it was obviously nothing like before. “I knew that when they did the ultrasound earlier, but I thought I’d surprise you.”

“A girl…” I thought aloud. That was what I wanted, though of course I would have been happy anyway.

“What’s the name?” the doctor asked. “If you were expecting a boy, it might not work out to keep the name.” He thought he was just the funniest thing…

“Charlie,” Jeremy answered. “that’s what you wanted to name her anyway, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I remembered. Of course I remembered. “Charlotte Leigh. But we’d call her Charlie.”

“Charlotte Leigh Fillmore,” Kate smiled. “Well, Renner, actually. Right?”

I looked at Jeremy and beamed with pride. Now the tears were coming. For all of us.

…

Charlie was a huge baby. Nine pounds is something fierce, especially coming from a tiny little thing like Kate. But god was she gorgeous.

Her eyes were large and round and a dark blue. Her skin was a lovely olive tone, and the pediatrician told us it could get darker with time. Her hair – and there was lots of it – was jet black and curly. And her lips were so plump and round that all I wanted to do every day from that one forward was give them kisses, over and over and over again.

When we were allowed to hold her at last, I could see that she clearly didn’t know my voice as well as she knew Kate’s. Kate was so natural to her, so familiar. Sure, Charlie had my genes and my coloring and my big ears, but she’d been carried by Kate since the start. For some time I worried that we might have trouble bonding, and the thought saddened me deeply. But when she held my finger in hers and squeezed it so tightly that I thought the nail might pop right off, I knew. This was my baby, and I was her mama.

Jeremy held her next, and all he could say was “Hello, gorgeous,” every few seconds between kissing her chubby cheeks. That was the first time she opened her eyes. She looked right at him. How lucky for her, I thought, that the first thing she ever got to see was that man. What high hopes she would have for everyone she has seen since.

And lastly, Kate held her. At first, she could only sob, overcome with post-natal hormones and sleep deprivation. She kissed Charlie’s forehead constantly, whispering indistinctly words of love. She looked up at us, trying to ask for some time alone. She didn’t have to say it, though. We knew that it was the very least we could do.

A few minutes later, when she welcomed us back, Jeremy and I sat at the foot of her bed as Charlie rested in the bassinet beside us.

“We have something for you,” Jeremy told her.

“For me?” she asked excitedly. “Food?”

“Well no, but hopefully you’ll still like it.”

“What is it?”

Jeremy reached forward, holding her hands in his. He loved her so much, like a little sister. And he was choking up just saying the words.

“We want you to know you always have a home here, in Cali,” he said. “So Lana and I have decided to give you the house. It’s yours whenever you want it, for as long as you want it. You never have to worry about paying for a thing. Okay?”

“The house?” She asked, completely shocked. “The Valley house?”

I nodded.

She lunged forward, summoning the energy to do so through some invisible second wind. “Thank you so much!” she shrieked, waking the baby.

She apologized for waking her, but then thought over what she’d been told. “Oh my god… thank you so much.”

“Better than chocolate?” I asked.

She brought the blankets up to her mouth and nuzzled into them, tears falling from her eyes. “A little,” she smiled.


	24. Conclusion

It’s hard for me to say exactly how much life changed after Charlie was born. On the one hand, things were completely different now that Jeremy and I were married. We got to enjoy such fun tasks as changing our tax forms and marital statuses on all of our insurance information. We had Charlie, who looked more and more like her father every day. We had this big, beautiful house – my dream house – all to ourselves for the first time in… well, ever, really. In those ways, everything seemed to have changed.

In other ways, though, nothing had at all. I still woke to Jeremy’s soft kisses on my cheek, breakfast in bed every Monday morning, and gyros for dinner every Friday night. I still had the knowledge that no matter what happened, he would always be there for me. I still got to look at him, enjoy the mere sight of him, revel in the fact that he was all mine. Every day I woke up thankful just to know this man.

It amazed me how much interaction he wanted with Charlie. She was, admittedly, a colicky baby. But every time she woke up, both of us did, too. For some reason, I doubted he would. I don’t know why. I guess it’s everything I’ve always been taught to believe about men. On top of that, I considered that over a year before when I originally asked him to have a baby with me, it was meant to be just mine, with little to no interaction with Jeremy at all. As far as I knew, I’d be living in Chicago, raising her all by myself in my spacious dream condo on Lake Shore Drive.

But god, I’m glad sometimes when dreams don’t come true.

One night in particular sticks with me. It was the first time Charlie was sick. And I’m not talking about her having a cold. I’m talking about puking, hacking, fever. She was almost six months old, a butterball of a child who’d never yet had a real sick day. But when it finally came, it came with such a vengeance.

“She’s still puking?” Jeremy asked as he walked into the nursery. He’d been working all day, and it was nearly 2 A.M. at this point.

“She’s very sick,” I told him plainly. To be honest, at the time I was probably getting pissed off easily.

“Let me take her,” he said.

I looked up at him, unsure if he understood exactly what she was going through. “I’m fine. Go to bed.”

“Nah, come on,” he insisted. He knelt down in front of me as I was sitting in the rocking chair cradling her. “Let me have a turn.”

It was funny, I thought, how he thought it appropriate to say “let me.” Like it was a favor I was doing him or something.

“Are you sure?” But even as I asked, I was already placing her in his arms.

“Of course I’m sure I wanna hold her,” he answered. His smile made it evident. He would settle for nothing less.

Once I’d switched places with him – I was now standing in front of him as he sat in the rocker holding our baby – I watched them for a moment. Sure, I was internally thanking the gods for these lives, for all that I’d been given, blessed with, blah, blah, blah. But more than that, I was plotting my escape and mapping out in my mind where the nearest spa was located.

“Why don’t you go get me some coffee?” he said.

I could have socked him in the jaw. Coffee? Really? After spending the entire day nursing my child to health he wanted to come home and take her when she was sleeping, then order me to make him coffee? Was he actually trying to get killed?

“Fuck you,” I answered in a smile, my softest, sweetest tone of voice in tow.

“Banana,” he repeated, mocking my tone. “Trust me. I need coffee.”

I turned on my heel, ready to get out of there so that I didn’t raise my voice and wake her. He could get his own goddamn coffee.

But then in the morning, he was still in that chair with her. His shirt smelled like vomit, and I could smell it from the doorway. Charlie was wearing new pajamas, and the diaper pail was full. He’d had a hell of a night. The least I could do was make the guy a cup of coffee.

And then there it was. Beside the coffee maker was a little blue box. Inside that box, the most beautiful diamond ring I’d ever seen. Single round-cut solitaire on a platinum band.

I ran up to the nursery and woke him up more enthusiastically than I should have. His eyes, when they did finally open, were only that way long enough for him to whisper, “Love you, baby.”

The ring didn’t make us any more married than we already were, but it seemed that every day he did more and more to show me he loved me. He’s not really the kind of guy to smother me with “I love you’s” and so forth, and I’m okay with that. I would much rather be shown that love, and that’s what he does.

As far as Chicago goes, I still visit on occasion. Jameson found me a job through my new agent, and the job does often call for me to travel all around the country to assist in costume design for major theatrical shows. I’m also currently contracted for three movies, a Broadway play, and an Academy Awards dress. Life is exciting. Life is wonderful.

Kate has been staying here more often than I thought she would, but of course none of us mind. Jeremy bought her a sapphire necklace as a push present, and even though it’s way too fancy for everyday use, I’ve never seen her without it. She wears it everywhere – to visit us, to get dinner, to do laundry. We’ve discussed the idea of having more kids in the future, and even discussed the possibility of Kate helping us out again. But nothing has been decided yet. We’re perfectly happy – and busy – as we are now.

As for my mom, I’ve been keeping in touch much more than I ever have before. She’s come out to visit us twice, and I’ve gone to see her once. Things will get better in time, I’m sure, but it will be a while. And that’s okay. Jeremy says it’s probably best that way. When you rush, he said, you miss the little things.

Thank you for being a part of my story. Jeremy and I tend to be sort of private these days about a lot, but I like to be open about the intimate details that got us to this place. They help me remember the little things.

And anyway, they’re fun to recall.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Scarlett and Sweaters, by request. Enjoy, loves!


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